Painted Faces
by Alex Snape
Summary: The Joker meets Dr. Harleen Quinzel in Arkham Asylum and during their sessions, they are each trying to convince the other: just who is fooling who? Nolanverse Joker and Harley. Rated M for language, some violence and some sexual references.
1. Warm Welcome

The first thing they did was throw him into the back of a squad car. He was a bit put off; he was quite enjoying himself when he was hanging upside down from the building project, only a sturdy piece of wire noosed around his ankle that was keeping him from falling head-first onto the pavement about 20 stories below.

It was a fun ride on the way down...and then The Batman just couldn't let him finish it. The Batman didn't want to endure the coming climax of what could have been, and so he ended the ride just as soon as it had started.

That's what amused him the most: the fact that a man dressed as ridiculous as he was (if not more so) and who also crept around in the shadows just couldn't be as sinister as The Joker.

He was, after all, his moral antithesis.

The Joker chuckled to himself as he felt the squad car begin to pull out into the street. He didn't notice the nervous policeman in the driver's seat as he nervously looked behind him as he listened to the prisoner begin to laugh at nothing.

The police radio in the dashboard spewed forth scrambled orders and The Joker could only make out the words "prisoner," "Batman," and "Arkham."

"Arkham, eh?" The Joker suddenly queried loudly, making the driver and his partner slightly jump in their seats. "I could use the vacation."

The driver's partner glanced nervously at him as the car continued down the street. About an hour later, they reached the very edge of the high-rise buildings and murky alleys and continued along a desolate road that was framed by trees whose leaves were hanging loosely from their branches in the cool night air.

The Joker raised an eyebrow as they passed by a sign reading "Arkham Asylum: All visitors and employees must check in at security booth."

"Is there a valet as well?" he quipped with a low growl, smirking as he caught the quick glance of the driver as he peered into the rear-view mirror.

They approached a yellow booth where a red and white striped mechanical arm blocked their way through the gates. The security guard, a young black man with the name tag "Andrew," stepped out into the night as the policeman rolled down the window. "Is this who we've been expecting, Shephard?" he asked the driver.

"Yeah, Drew," came his answer. "Be careful with this one."

"Roll it down," Andrew commanded.

"Drew --" Shephard began to warn.

"The window. Roll it down."

Shephard swallowed hard as he slowly rolled down The Joker's window, stopping the very top of the glass just below his chin. "Don't worry, Drew. His wrists are cuffed behind him."

"I'm not scared of this freak," Andrew remarked as he looked into The Joker's painted eyes. He began to write and scratch information onto the clipboard in his hand, but stopped when he heard the new inmate's throaty chuckle. "What's so goddamn funny, clown?"

The Joker licked his bottom lip. "I was just, uh...thinking...if we needed to tip you. I mean...Arkham can't be paying you much if you're just sitting in a booth for eight straight hours." Andrew merely sighed in annoyance as The Joker continued, "I'd tip you myself, but I'm afraid I've _burned_ through all my money. Haha!"

The Joker bit his lip and then curled it into a devilish grin. "Your wife must hate that you work the night shift...Andrew Knurek."

The guard's body tensed but he managed to straighten his shoulders. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know...lots of things...especially about Melanie...your _lovely_ wife..." Andrew dropped his clipboard to his side as he glared menacingly at the new patient. "Do you ever wonder, Andrew...if, while you're sitting out here...alone...in your shiny booth...do you ever wonder...if your sweet Melanie is ever _alone_?"

The guard suddenly dropped his clipboard and lunged at The Joker, but the prisoner merely threw himself backward onto the seat, cackling madly as the two cops jumped out of their seats to try to mollify the guard. "You son-of-a-bitch!! You don't know my wife, you sick fuck!"

"Mommy! Mommy! The rhino's getting to close to the car!!" The Joker wise-cracked and continued to guffaw loudly.

Shephard finally had Andrew calm, but then took his Billy club out of his holster. His partner looked at him and the guard and then at The Joker, whose eyes held a bemused light as he braced himself for what was coming next.

"Just one shot, man," Shephard whispered. "No one else is out here. Believe me; everyone at the precinct wants a piece of him after all the cops he took down."

Andrew gladly took the club from Shephard as he opened the door to the backseat. He grabbed The Joker by the lapels of his coat and slammed him into the car while Andrew prepared his swing. The Joker smacked his lips and growled, "You know...maybe I was wrong about your wife, Andy old boy..." He paused as Andrew breathed heavily, but growled after The Joker ended with: "Maybe we should ask your _brother _just how lonely Melanie is..."

After another hour of seeing nothing but darkness, The Joker awoke to find himself in a small gray room where an orderly was staring at him. The orderly was standing behind a man dressed in a white lab coat who was sitting with his hands folded on a desk, a file and a yellow Steno pad in front of him.

The Joker sniffed and raised himself up and he noticed, when he was lifting a hand to stroke the throbbing wound on his cheek, that his hands were once again cuffed, but he could freely move his arms. He blinked rapidly as his eyes slightly watered. "What a way to welcome a guy..." he grumbled.

"I can assure you that the employee responsible has been suspended without pay," the doctor told the patient as he steadied a hand on the far wall as he stood to his feet.

"Why do that?" The Joker asked. "Like I care what he did to me...I've had worse, you know." He motioned to his scars. "He was only doing what his human nature...compelled him to do."

The doctor suddenly began jotting down notes as The Joker paced to and from the two corners of the room in front of the desk, the orderly stepping closer in order to shield the man in white behind him from any sudden outbursts.

The Joker shot a sarcastic smile to the orderly and then looked down to find that his purple attire had been stripped from his unconscious body and that he had been issued a set of white pajama pants with matching shirt. "Where are my clothes?" he suddenly snapped.

"We boxed them away," the doctor casually replied as he continued to write on the Steno pad. "Don't worry. When you are able to make a full recovery and leave this place, they will be handed back over to you."

The Joker smirked. "You actually think you could cure me?"

"That is our goal, yes."

"There's nothing wrong with me...nothing that a little homicide can't fix."

The doctor sighed and began to flip through the small green file folder on the desk. "You have no other name that you have ever gone by...no previous address...no ID...no Social Security Number. Tell me. Where exactly did you come from?"

The patient raised an eyebrow as he leaned against his wall. "You'll have to ask my parents; they never told me."

The orderly tried to suppress a soft chuckle, but The Joker caught it and smirked. "Where did you come from, Doc? Or may I ask: who the hell are you? My shrink?"

"I'm Dr. Jeramiah Arkham," the man in white replied, boldly. "And no, I am not your doctor. You will be assigned one."

"Gonna draw straws, eh? Place bets? I knew a guy who made crucial decisions by flipping a coin."

"Harvey Dent, you mean?" Dr. Arkham asked.

"That's the one."

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Mr. Joker. Harvey Dent was thrown from a building by The Batman just hours ago."

The Joker sighed. "Lucky bastard..." he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," the patient said as he licked his lips. "So...what happens now? Are you gonna try to pick through my brain to see what you can write onto your little yellow pad, there?"

Dr. Arkham smiled. "That won't be up to me, Joker. That will be your doctor's decision." He closed the file and rose out of his chair. "Bobby, take him to the showers so he can freshen up." He looked at The Joker. "When you've finished, your dinner will be waiting for you in your cell. Your first session won't begin for another two days."

"I'm getting in the shower with him?" The Joker asked, motioning toward the orderly. He looked at him and said, "I'm flattered, pal, but you're really not my type."

"Shut your mouth, wise-ass," the orderly barked. "We're gonna wash that crap off your face _and_ that shit-eating grin of yours."

The Joker's glare turned dark as another orderly came into the room to help escort him to the shower room. The doctor's voice echoed behind him, "Try your best to meet us in the middle, Joker. It'll pay off for you if you do."

The new patient allowed the two men to show him toward the showers and his cuffs were soon removed as one of the orderlies grabbed his shoulders. Bobby helped him out of his white shirt and the cuffs were quickly locked onto his wrists again. The Joker smirked as he was stripped of his white pants and quipped, "Don't be shocked by what you see, gentlemen, but I'm afraid I just don't swing that way."

His remark earned him his back being thrown against the tile wall. Bobby turned on the shower taps and pointed to the two dispensers. "Left one, soap. Right one, shampoo. Use lots of it; Dr. Arkham wants that shit off your face."

"What if I don't feel like it?" The Joker challenged him.

Bobby glared at him. "If you don't feel like it now...you will later."

The Joker sneered and thought for a moment and decided that he was too tired to take another slam or hit in the head. Instead he nodded and winked at Bobby. "I like you, kid. You're not afraid to say what you want." Bobby looked away and then shook his head as he walked out of the room and locked the door behind him.

He had to admit that the hot water felt good on his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he had showered, actually, because he really didn't have a suitable hideout. When it came to finding hiding places, a shower and a bed weren't exactly the first qualities he ever looked for, and he was lucky if he was ever able to manage to sneak into a newly emptied hotel room where he could bathe and maybe get a few hours of sleep.

He pumped a large amount of shampoo into his wet hair and scrubbed his scalp as he sighed in relief. He hadn't smelled a clean scent like that in a while even if the scent reminded him of a hospital.

"Oh, wait," he mumbled to himself. "I _am_ in a hospital."

He chuckled to himself as he rinsed and noticed that some of the green dye was flowing into the drain along with the soapy water at his feet. He also saw that his white paint was dripping off his skin and he sighed again. "Might as well get this over with..." he growled just before he thrust his face into the hot water.

The Joker let out a groan as he felt the stinging pressure of the water on his face and he could feel his black eye paint streaming in long droplets down his cheeks. The red lipstick was becoming oily on his mouth and cheeks, and he rubbed his hands on them to help ease the process. He brought his face out of the water and wiped his eyes, smearing what was left of the black paint, and helped himself to a generous handful of soap from the wall pump.

After he lathered his body, he applied more soap to the rest of the paint on his face. He looked at his hands and saw that they were stained with the three colors that made up his mask.

He knew that he would have to go without his paint while he was here in the asylum. He could only wonder what else he would have to put up with while his mind was being poked and prodded by the many doctors that would no doubt be questioning him.

The Joker was brought out of his thoughts when the water was suddenly shut off, and he turned to see Bobby's friend holding a big white towel. He threw it to him and barked, "Dry off quickly. It's past 'lights out.'"

"Oooh," The Joker pretended to be worried. "Wouldn't wanna wake Mom and Dad now, would we?"

"Shut up and get dressed, clown," the orderly commanded as he hung a bright orange jumpsuit onto a metal hook on the other side of a towel rack along with a pair of crisp white boxer shorts.

Minutes later, The Joker was escorted out of the shower room and Bobby's lips slightly parted when he came face to face, not with a raving clown, but with a simple, scarred man. The scars along his cheeks were pronounced on his now clean face, and the left scar was deeper than the right. There was also a small scar that traveled from the middle of his bottom lip and stopped just above his chin.

The Joker noticed Bobby staring at him and he frowned, "What's the matter? I got something on my face?"

Bobby shook himself from his disbelief and nodded to his friend, and The Joker allowed them to lead him into his new home.

He was taken to a giant window that served as a partition between the hallway and the small room within, and Bobby swiped his card key as his friend pushed The Joker past the sliding door.

"Don't even think about hurling that chair toward this glass, clown," Bobby told him as the other orderly unlocked The Joker's wrists from the handcuffs. "All it's gonna do is bounce right back in your face."

The Joker couldn't help but chuckle. "I told you that I liked you, Bobby," he replied as the other orderly walked out of the cell. "But what's his problem?" He gestured toward Bobby's friend.

Bobby smirked. "Don't mind Sly," he said quietly. "Sleep tight."

The Joker turned as the door was closed behind him and he looked at the small tray of food that was promised to him. He sneered as he lifted the stale ham and cheese sandwich and sniffed it hesitantly. He dropped it back onto his tray and instead grabbed the red apple. He greedily bit into it and let the sweet juices fall down his chin.

His taste buds hungrily treasured this sudden treat and he took the opportunity to look at his new hiding place. He found that his toilet was behind a metal partition, allowing him his only bit of privacy and a small sink was nestled into the concrete wall beside it. There, he found a toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste.

He cocked his head and sniffed. He _really_ couldn't remember the last time he brushed his teeth. He finished his apple and threw the core onto the tray on the other side of the room. He gingerly picked up the toothbrush and put a large amount of toothpaste onto its bristles, the minty scent filling his nostrils. He looked into the dirty mirror in front of him and sneered as he began to brush his teeth.

"Hmm...not bad..." he remarked to himself as he felt the toothpaste foam in his mouth. As soon as he hit one of his back molars, however, he groaned in pain. He quickly spit out the foam and noticed his bleeding gums and he prodded the molar that was now throbbing in the back of his mouth. "You little fucker..." he whispered to his reflection.

After he rinsed his mouth again, he walked over to the glass and tried his best to peer down the hallway. He could see other cells just like his and he also spotted a clear plastic tray that was hanging beside the sliding door. His green file was resting inside it, the label marking him with the name "Doe, John." The Joker snickered and shook his head, but then noticed the name underneath his, in black marker, "Dr. Quinzel."

He raised an eyebrow as he snorted and walked over to his cot. He rested his head on the flat pillow and tried his best to make due with the stiff mattress that was pressing into his back.

The Joker placed his hands behind his head and shut his eyes as he dozed into a light sleep, musing over the black marker's inscription of his doctor's moniker.

Dr. Quinzel.

"The name alone has issues..."


	2. Twitch

Harleen stood in front of her bathroom mirror applying her makeup as Richard was busy shaving. She looked at him and grinned as he carefully led his razor across the stubble on his neck. She was brought out of her trance when he suddenly asked, "Should I grow a goatee?"

She laughed. "No, Richard. I told you. I like your face smooth. It's nice to rub."

Harleen reached over and stroked the bare part of his cheek that he had just shaved and he smiled. "You know," he started. "Dr. Arkham would have a cow if he knew that I was the reason you were late some days."

She smirked as she finished putting on her mascara. "He would feel likewise about me. At least you don't have to work the night shift like Andrew."

"Yeah, poor guy. I would be bored stupid. At least during the day, people are coming and going, but night shifts...Jesus. I'd go crazy."

"Then you'd be in the right place, babe," Harleen quipped as she brushed her hair. She glanced at the wall clock. "Shit! Speaking of crazy, I gotta get to work."

He grabbed her wrist and gently kissed her lips. "Can I come over again tonight?"

She smiled. "We'll see. I have a new patient today so I may need to stay late to work on his file. I'll call you though. Okay?"

Richard playfully rolled his eyes and sighed. "Okay..." He kissed her again and let her leave the bathroom.

"Lock the door behind you, please!" Harleen called as she walked into the living room and put on her lab coat.

She was soon greeting Tommy at the security booth as she was driving to the gate. "Hey, Tom!" she called as she rolled down the window.

"Good morning, Dr. Quinzel," Tom replied, smiling. "Richard have a day off?"

"Yeah," she answered. "Lucky."

"I hear ya. Have a good day."

"Thanks, Tom!"

Minutes later, she was organizing her notes in her office when Dr. Joan Leland knocked on her door. "Hello, Harleen."

"Oh, hi, Joan. Just getting ready to meet my new patient." She showed Dr. Leland the red file that was left on her desk and was about to walk to the door when she was stopped.

"Sit down a minute, Harleen," Dr. Leland told her. "I need to tell you something about your new patient."

"What's to tell?" Harleen asked. "It's in black and white right here in Desmond's file."

"Desmond isn't going to be your new patient. I'm afraid that Dr. Arkham has reassigned you."

Harleen sat in her chair. "Again?" she asked in disbelief. "Why does he keep doing that?"

Dr. Leland sat in the leather couch across from her desk and handed Harleen a green file. "We all know that Dr. Arkham doesn't like your...how should I put this? Direct approaches when it comes to therapy."

Harleen smirked. "Some patients actually _want_ to be told the facts. I'm sorry I'm not like the great Jeramiah Arkham who likes to skirt around the big issues and sugar-coat their situation."

Dr. Leland sighed. "Then...I suppose that's why he's given you this patient." She motioned to the green file she had just handed her.

Harleen slowly opened the folder and peered inside. After she had seen the mug shot, she instantly slammed the folder shut. "The Joker?! Is Jerry going insane, too?!"

"Harleen! Lower your voice...and you will address him as Dr. Arkham. I've told you that."

"Does he actually think that I'd be safe with someone like this? Have you forgotten that he blew that DA's girlfriend sky-high?"

"What happened to Rachel Dawes was no doubt tragic, but The Joker has been very cooperative for these past two days." Dr. Leland rose from her seat and opened the office door. "I trust Dr. Arkham's judgment, Harleen. If you really hate that he keeps reassigning your patients, then treat The Joker. You might just actually impress him." She gently shut the door as she left Harleen to her thoughts and the little green folder that prepared her for her first session.

The Joker sat quietly at a metal table and shuffled his feet on the floor, his slippers making a soft scraping sound as he gently drummed the table with his fingers. He stared at the concrete wall in front of him as Bobby stood behind him beside the door. The orderly was slightly startled when he heard The Joker ask, "Where's the couch?"

"What's that, clown?"

The Joker turned his clean face to Bobby. "The couch. Don't shrinks usually have couches where the patients can lie down and tell their sob stories."

Bobby sneered and replied, "Usually the first couple of sessions are in here. Then, if you're good...you get a couch."

"Ahh, kinda like my little reward. I've already earned a shower and toothbrush. At least I have a goal now..."

"Shut up and keep your eyes on the wall."

The Joker turned back to the concrete ahead of him and decided to pass the time by shutting his eyes. He thought about his two days so far at Arkham Asylum and thought it wasn't too bad. At least he had a roof over his head and actually found that there was always something to do in the recreation room. He never bothered socializing with the other patients, not just because he was in the habit of being alone, but also because the other patients were a bit nervous around him.

He liked it that way, however. He knew it would be a matter of time before he had the doctors willing to lower their salaries in order to avoid sitting with him.

He suddenly heard murmuring voices outside the door, but didn't turn to see the source. He could make out two female voices and then the door creaked open. The sound of high heels echoed in the room and a soft voice, "Thanks, Bobby. I can take it from here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, just be close, huh?" The voice told him and soon the door was closed and silence filled the room.

Harleen stared blankly at the patient seated just a few feet in front of her as she kept her back to the door. She could make out what was left of the green paint in his curly hair and she watched as his fingers continued to softly drum the table.

She had prepared herself for this first session since she entered the elevator near her office. Harleen had to keep telling herself that, yes, he was The Joker, but he was really just a sick individual that needed her help. If she let her fear dissuade her from what she went to school to do, then she wouldn't be much of a doctor.

"I know you're there," he softly purred, his voice surprisingly charming.

Harleen gulped down the nervous lump in her throat and slowly walked toward the patient that was waiting for her. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Joker. Thanks for your patience. I'm sorry I'm a tad late for our first session."

He chuckled as he traced an invisible image on the table with his middle finger. "Don't be sorry. I'm flattered that you would think I'm patient. I'm also flattered by the 'Mister,' Nurse...?"

"Doctor, Mr. Joker," Harleen bravely answered as she took her seat in front of him. "Dr. Quinzel."

"Ahh," he said quietly as he continued to keep his eyes on his tracing. "So, you're the poor sap who drew the short straw? My condolences..."

Harleen smirked. "None are needed, I can assure you."

He snickered again. "Yeah? And why's that?" He finally raised his eyes to his doctor and they slightly widened when her bright blue eyes met his dark ones.

She gently took off her glasses and grinned. "Because..." she replied melodiously. "I want to be here."

The Joker suddenly realized that his body had become very stiff. The drumming of his fingers ceased the moment he gazed into her eyes and his mouth became abruptly dry. He licked his lips and sat himself straighter in his chair, folding his hands as he looked at her. He cleared his throat and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "You're pretty young...to be a doctor."

"Really?" Harleen asked as she dated her notebook with a bright blue pen.

"How old are you?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Well, I would think that someone your age had some...advantages...when getting her PhD."

Harleen smirked. She knew what he was trying to do because her associates had assumed the exact same thing about how she could be so young and yet have her degree finished in so little amount of time.

She smiled to herself as she put her glasses on again. "I'd like to start off by...asking a question that you may never hear from any of these other doctors."

He cocked his head in keen interest. "I'm all ears, Doc."

"What's your opinion of Arkham?"

He raised his eyebrows and thought a moment. "The place...or the doctor?"

Harleen smiled. "Well, just for laughs, let's say both."

"Oh, well...this place is actually quite comfy. I get free food, free entertainment, a hot shower...believe it or not that's hard to get when you're constantly on the run..."

She jotted a few short notes in her book as he spoke, every now and then looking at him to let him know that she was still listening. Her eyes, however, would be instantly drawn to his scars that were etched onto his smooth skin, and then, to his dark eyes. He obviously looked different without his face paint and she couldn't help but notice just how young he actually was.

It made her wonder just what had happened to him to make him become who he was at that moment. He seemed so animated in his speaking and she suddenly found herself watching him move instead of writing notes like she was so accustomed to doing with her other patients.

"Now, the doctor...he's okay, I guess," The Joker continued. "I only met him for a couple of hours...then he disappeared. But then again...he's a busy man." He had noticed that she had stopped writing and gestured to her notebook. "Did you get all that?"

Harleen suddenly chuckled at his abrupt one-liner and had to stop herself, covering up her smile and clearing her throat. "I'm only taking notes on the important topics, Mr. Joker."

"Just like the topics that got you that PhD so quickly..." he remarked, trying to bring any kind of flush to her cheeks. He found that it didn't work because she just smirked at him. "How do _you_ like Arkham, Doc?"

Harleen was caught off guard by this sudden question and shook her head. "This session isn't about me, I'm afraid."

"Why not?" The Joker asked her. "Sure, all these sessions are going to be about me, but...they're about you, too, aren't they?"

Harleen removed her glasses and set them down by her notebook. She raised her eyebrow, intrigued by his question. "How so?"

He licked the corners of his mouth. "Well, the fact that you said that you want to be here...in this room with me...wanting to be my doctor...that says something about you, right?"

"I want to help you. Dr. Arkham believes that therapy along with psychiatric treatment..."

"Ah ta ta," he interrupted her. "I'm not talking about Dr. Arkham and what _he_ wants. I'm talking about Dr. Quinzel and what _she_ wants. You say you want to help me?"

"Of course I do," she replied.

"Why? I didn't ask for your help. You're not a friend or anything. You were assigned to me, right? I mean, you didn't just sit at the back of the board meeting and wave your hand in the air like some teacher's pet to get stuck with me. So, the question remains: Who are these sessions really for? Crazy ole me? Or the young doctor who just wants to prove something to her boss?"

Harleen stared at him in disbelief. She had a feeling that he would try to turn the tables on her because she knew how clever he was from watching him on the news. However, she never thought that he would throw such profound questions her way.

True, she wanted to prove herself to Dr. Arkham, but what employee didn't want to impress their boss. And, yes, she _was_ stuck with The Joker. She had been hesitant to help him, but the more she thought about his mental state, the more intriguing he sounded.

As she looked at him, she noticed that he kept licking his lips in an almost nervous tick, but to offer both comfort to her patient and to herself, she interjected with, "Would you like some water?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't really answer my question. And, no thanks. I'm not thirsty."

"Oh," Harleen sighed. "It's just that you keep licking your lips and smacking; I thought you'd be a bit thirsty."

The Joker frowned slightly at her. "Well, if you must know...Doctor Quinzel...it's kind of a twitch that I have. Believe me, I've noticed it, too; I've lived with it for a while now."

"Oh, sorry. I've just never seen a twitch like that with anyone."

"Well, you have now..." The Joker growled impatiently. "Now, answer my question."

"It's just the smacking could eventually grate one's nerves. We could probably get you some meds that'll help stop that."

"I don't need meds," he said in a deep voice. "I want an answer...to my question..."

"It's interesting...yet odd..." she continued.

"Yeah, well that's what happens when you've been using coke for three years!!"

Silence filled the room as Harleen's mouth slightly parted. She saw his fierce expression change to annoyance, not just with her sly questioning but with his sudden outburst. "Shit..." he mumbled as he rubbed his tired eyes.

Harleen quickly picked up her blue pen and began jotting down a swift note about what she had discovered. She had to stifle her startled squeal when his fist suddenly slammed onto the table. "Answer my goddamn question!!"

She bit her lip and leaned forward a bit, saying calmly, "No. I won't answer any of your questions. Not today, not tomorrow, not in any other session. I'm your doctor and I'm helping you, regardless of whether you believe I want to or not!"

The Joker was slightly put off by this petite woman's retort and he straightened in his chair and gazed up at her as she stood up with her notebook and his file.

"I think we'll end your first session a little early, Mr. Joker. I have to go to my office and write your first prescription."

"For what?" he sneered as she began to walk away.

"Baclofen," she answered, stomping away.

"What the fuck is that?"

"It's for your cocaine habit. Now, good afternoon!" She slammed the door behind her and he could hear her stomp away.

The Joker stared ahead at the chair in which his new doctor had just been sitting. It was the first time that his cunning had gotten the better of him...and used by a woman, no less! Some air-headed blonde just traipses into life, begins writing prescriptions, and begins to demand what he isn't allowed to do.

That kind of intangible boundary was just enough to get him incensed.

He suddenly shot out of his chair, grabbed it and threw it against the concrete wall. Bobby and Sly grabbed him from nowhere and dragged him out of the room and back toward his cell.

When he was thrown through the sliding door, it closed behind him and he screamed at Bobby as he walked down the hallway, "You tell that little bitch that I have a better use for her fucking prescription!"

He ran to the sink and turned on the cold tap and splashed the icy water on his face. His skin had become flushed with heat and he groaned as he hovered in front of the mirror.

The Joker turned off the sink tap and stared at his reflection. That woman would never have talked to him like she did if she wasn't hiding behind these white walls. She'd be just like everyone else: frightened. That's what he preferred, but she just proved to him that his outbursts were meaningless to her.

He knew that these sessions were going to be trying, and yet he found that he kept thinking about Dr. Quinzel throughout the rest of the day. The way her white coat folded around her small frame. The black pencil skirt she wore. The red stiletto heels that perfectly matched her small, painted toes.

He found himself becoming more interested in her as the hours passed. As slumber began to approach him as he lay on his hard cot, he began to wonder what she could be doing at that moment, just outside the tall brick walls that were lined with razor wire. He had noticed how she stared at him as he spoke and he smirked to himself. She had been absolutely entranced with the way he carried on that morning.

Maybe, he thought to himself. I could use that to my advantage.

He smiled, and as he drifted into sleep, he suddenly remembered something else about his doctor that he had noticed...

...she smelled like vanilla.


	3. Poked and Prodded

"Baclofen?" Dr. Arkham asked Harleen as he looked at the prescription she had written for The Joker. "He hasn't been here a week, Dr. Quinzel, and you're already prescribing something used for cocaine addicts."

Harleen took a deep breath. "He admitted to me just yesterday that he's been using for three years. I believe that if he's getting therapy while he's detoxing, then he'll be able to open up more freely." She paused as she waited patiently for a response, but, more importantly, Dr. Arkham's signature approving the medication.

He sighed. "How do you even know that he was telling the truth?"

"Well, he has a continuous tick that's common in most users...uh...plus, it may help explain his behavior...only partly that is, Doctor. Believe me; I plan on digging deeper than just making him pop pills."

Dr. Arkham stared at the young doctor and then shook his head as he picked up his pen. "You're right, Doctor. At a very gentle dosage, the baclofen could help with his convulsions, but we'll need to monitor him." He signed the prescription as Harleen grinned to herself, but the grin fell away when he looked up at her, continuing, "Also, I need to talk to you about your impatience."

Harleen furrowed her brow. "I'm not impatient, Dr. Arkham. I found out that the only way The Joker will respond to anything you throw at him is if you do it his way."

"Really?" he grumbled. "Just be careful, Dr. Quinzel. You may find yourself picking up his habits. Don't let him get under your skin."

She swiped the prescription from his hand and nodded. "Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but I'll be fine." She stomped through his door and walked toward the elevator to go to the basement floor to the med room.

The Joker was brushing his teeth when he heard the familiar sound of high heels coming down the hallway. He kept his concentration on the mirror as his sleepy eyes were still trying to get accustomed to the fluorescent lights that beamed in from the hallway.

The waves started to happen again last night. It had been almost four days since his last fix. He knew they were beginning again when he awoke in the middle of the night and struggled to unzip his jumpsuit to escape the sudden heat that was attacking his body, and as soon as he had unzipped it to his hips, his right hand began to shake.

"It's always this fucking hand," he had cursed to himself as he had placed it under his pillow as he tried to go back to sleep.

His jumpsuit was still hanging off his waist as he stood in front of the sink. He could tell he was going to be uncomfortable today. His right hand was still trembling as he held his toothbrush and his back molar was burning in his gums. After he spit out the minty foam, he rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water on his face and groaned loudly, lightly pounding the wall in front of him with his hand.

The Joker felt another wave of heat as he lifted his eyes to the mirror and his breath caught in his throat when he saw that Dr. Quinzel was looking at him from the other side of his cell. He didn't turn around but just stood still as he stared back at her.

Harleen could see the recent bruises on his sides as she tightly gripped the handle of her valise. She also noticed the lean build of his arms and shoulders as he had lifted his head to look in the mirror.

She could make out tiny scars crissed-crossed up and down his back, perhaps from past fights with the Mob even some of the new ones that were still healing from his run-ins with The Batman. Harleen had noticed that she was holding her breath as she stared at the muscles in his back. She was caught off guard when he started to turn around and face her.

She finally exhaled in surprise as he glared back at her with heavy eyes. Harleen couldn't quite figure out his expression; it seemed to hold no emotion yet it was a knowing look.

Like he knew she had been staring at him for a full two minutes...

She smirked and waved simply at him as a way to greet him a good morning. She had hoped that she hadn't done anything wrong from their first session, that she hadn't discouraged him from wanting to talk to her.

Her fears were put to rest when he suddenly showed her his toothbrush and then gave her the biggest, cheesiest smile he could muster.

Harleen's laugh couldn't be held back quick enough. Her high-pitched chortle echoed in the hall around her and an aide passing by shot her a confused look. She instantly covered her smile and held her breath again. She looked around and noticed that only a few other aides and one or two patients had witnessed this sudden burst of joy.

She turned back to The Joker's cell to see his reaction, but he had turned back to the mirror and was zipping up his orange jumpsuit. She quickly walked to the elevator, a soft pink in her cheeks.

The Joker smirked as he turned and saw that Dr. Quinzel had suddenly left. His smirk disappeared and he walked to the glass to gaze down the hallway and he could make out her lab coat behind the elevator doors as they closed.

What a laugh, he thought to himself.

He winced as he gripped his right hand, a sudden stinging sensation moving from the middle of his palm to his elbow. "Fuck..." he muttered. He heard the sliding door suddenly opening and he lifted his head to find Sly, the orderly, standing in his cell.

"Come on, Joker," he ordered.

"Come on...where?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You have a dental appointment, clown," Sly said.

The Joker couldn't help but snicker. "I didn't make an appointment."

"You don't need to. Dr. Arkham did it."

The Joker sniffed and suddenly remembered that his second day in Arkham consisted of different physical examinations by the asylums doctor's. They drew blood to test for any type of deficiencies and diseases, and they took x-rays of his teeth. Dr. Arkham sat in during the physical to write more of his notes, but was surprised to find that The Joker was quite cooperative.

In his mind, The Joker just wanted to get it all over with and go back to his cell. He allowed the doctors to poke, prod, and stick needles into him, but this would be the only time he would let them. The next needle he saw coming to his arm would be redirected into its owner's eye.

"Fine," The Joker finally sighed as he allowed Sly to cuff him again and lead him upstairs to the asylum's dentist. They stopped at the elevator and Sly pressed the up button, and The Joker looked at his slippers and his shaking hand. When the doors opened, he heard Sly speak, "Good morning, Dr. Quinzel."

The Joker slowly lifted his eyes and came face to face with his doctor, her bright blue eyes shining. Little did he know that she was in the middle of riding the elevator back to his floor to go back to Dr. Arkham's office where she had left his file on his desk.

However, she decided to ride the elevator again. "Going up?" she asked softly.

Sly pushed The Joker past her and the elevator doors closed behind them. "Sixth floor, please, Doctor," Sly said.

Harleen pressed the button for their destination and bit her lip as she stared straight ahead.

The Joker took a deep breath and inhaled her scent. She didn't smell like vanilla today; he could have sworn that she was wearing some kind of flowery smell. Jasmine or something just as soothing.

The silence between them was thick until The Joker decided to break it. "I've got a very important appointment this morning, Doc."

Harleen couldn't help but grin. "I know. You're going to the dentist."

"How did you know that?"

"Well, I _am_ your doctor."

He licked his bottom lip. "So you are..." He glanced at her and saw that she was wearing a green blouse underneath her white lab coat. "Not sure why I'm going..."

"Dr. Arkham didn't tell you?" Harleen looked back at him. "You have two broken teeth..."

"Just two?" he smirked.

"And you'll get a good cleaning. I'll bet you haven't been to the dentist in a while."

The Joker shook his head. "I always thought it was a waste of time. Having to lie in a chair while some guy pokes at your gums with some hook? And they say _I'm_ sadistic."

Harleen giggled and covered her mouth as she did so. "I would think that...if The Joker seeks nothing more than to make people smile at his revealing messages about society...then maybe he should be the one with the most meaningful smile."

The Joker raised his eyebrows and smacked his lips as he tried to think of a retort to this sudden observation. He sighed and gently leaned in according to the distance that Sly allowed him, "At least I never try to hide when I find something funny...unlike you, Doc. You may think I don't notice, but...I see you hide your smile."

Harleen's lips parted as she stared back at him, her ears burning in slight embarrassment. The Joker noticed her reaction and, after looking back at Sly, gently whispered, "Your laugh was actually a relief this morning..."

She took what few seconds she had left before the elevator doors opened to stare into his dark eyes. The whites of them were still red from his waking up and she was about to speak when she suddenly noticed his hand shaking.

Before she could address it, the doors to the elevator opened and Sly led The Joker out and down the hallway. "I hope I get a sucker..." he called back as they walked away.

Harleen smiled and tried to shout back, "That's how dentists make --" The doors closed. "Their money..." she whispered to herself, slightly put off that the doors interrupted her parting joke.

That evening, at her apartment, Richard was flipping through channels on the television as Harleen sat at her small kitchen table and pored over her notes that she had taken on her usual patients. She was brought out of her writing by her boyfriend's voice, "So...how's that new patient been treating you?"

Harleen smiled. "He's...interesting."

Richard waited for more of an explanation but turned to look at her when she continued with her notes. "That's it?"

"I've only had one session with him so far, baby," she yawned.

Richard took her yawn as his cue to come over to her and begin rubbing her shoulders. She moaned and leaned back in her chair. "You can't tell me anything else?" he asked.

Harleen sighed. She had decided to leave The Joker's files in her office because she knew that Richard would only get worried if he knew that he was her new patient. She held his hand and kissed it. "Not really. I have another session tomorrow."

Richard smirked. "Okay..." He leaned in and began to kiss her neck, making her giggle, but then she gently pushed him away.

"I'm tired, Richard," she said quietly.

He sighed and walked to the television where he turned it off. "You're always tired."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing..." He took his coat off the armchair and put it on as he walked over to her. "I have to go..."

"You don't have to leave."

"No...you have to work in the morning." He gently kissed her lips. "Night."

"Night..." she said as he walked out the door. Harleen bit her lip and felt a bit guilty for shoving him away, but she had told him that she wanted to go slow. They had only been dating for a couple of months and hadn't gotten really physical. She had actually shown more interest in her work recently.

She finally put away her files into her valise and went into her bathroom to wash her face. The warm water was soothing on her skin and she applied her face cleanser as she looked into the mirror. For the rest of the day she had been repeating what The Joker had told her in the elevator:

"_Your laugh was actually a relief this morning..."_

Harleen couldn't understand it. Relief from what? From the confines of his small cell? From the other sad faces around him? From all the stares in his direction?

She washed away her cleanser and patted her face dry. After applying her skin cream, she took off her pajama pants and crawled into bed, but before closing her eyes, she turned onto her side and stared out of her window, thinking about how Richard just left her.

She had a feeling sometimes that he was bored with her. They hadn't had sex yet, but he would sometimes stay the night with her. However, if she ever backed away from his advances he would either go to sleep or he would just leave.

Harleen shut her eyes and tried to go to sleep, thinking only of what she could ask her new patient tomorrow.

The next morning was an interesting one for The Joker. To his surprise, when Bobby opened his door, there was no tray for his breakfast. Instead he was told that he was going to be eating in the cafeteria with everyone else...with his cuffs on, of course.

"Let me guess," he told Bobby. "This is a test...to see if I'll be a good boy."

"You got it, Joker," Bobby replied as he snapped the cuffs on his wrists behind his back.

The Joker chuckled as he did this and quipped, "Am I supposed to carry my tray on my head or something?"

Bobby couldn't help but smirk. "Nah, I'll let you out of these just as soon as you get in there. I'll go get your tray."

"You get paid extra for being a personal waiter, too?"

Bobby chuckled. "I wish..." he muttered.

The cafeteria was abuzz with activity and Bobby escorted The Joker to a far table near the back of the room. He seated him on the corner of a single table and unhooked one of his hands from the cuffs, bringing his hands in front of him and cuffing them on a high bar underneath the table.

"Be right back," Bobby told him, walking away to the food line.

"_Chocolate_ milk!" The Joker called after him.

He heard whispering at the table next to him and he looked forward, watching the two patients that were talking out of the corner of his eye. He could barely make out what they were saying, but he knew they were pointing at him and talking about the obvious marks on his face.

He didn't care; he was used to the talking, always had been since he first got his scars. The Joker suddenly had a thought that, no doubt, Dr. Quinzel would want to hear a story about the origin of his trademark wounds. He just couldn't decide which story would be appropriate for her.

The story about the wife was always a good one. Or even the one about the jealous husband. He never got to use the story about the Mob deal gone wrong or the tragic automobile accident that killed his girlfriend and the glass that had to be pulled from his face while his high school sweetheart burned alive in the twisted metal.

They're all just too good, he thought to himself. Maybe I should cook up a new one. The one about my shit-faced father is getting a tad old.

The Joker suddenly turned his head toward the still-murmuring patients and their talking ceased immediately. He smirked at them, one a young man with shaggy black hair and the other a woman with yellowish skin and a pockmarked face. The Joker sighed, "You two keep staring any longer, I'm gonna have to start charging."

His lips curled into a wicked smile as they suddenly picked up their trays and walked briskly away from their table. A tray filled with powdered eggs and dry bacon was instantly set in front of him when he turned his eyes forward again. He looked up at Bobby, who was setting down two small half-pints of chocolate milk onto the table.

Bobby bent down and unlocked his hands from the cuffs and The Joker sat up straight and stared at his tray. Then, picking up his plastic fork, he poked hesitantly at his eggs and decided to start with the milk. He took a huge gulp and set the carton down hard onto the table, making brown droplets splash onto the wood. "You gonna stand there the whole time?" The Joker asked his chaperone rather impatiently.

Bobby took the hint and walked a few feet away to talk to another orderly. The Joker finally gathered the courage to pop a forkful of eggs into his mouth and they felt just like he assumed: like wet toilet paper. However, he chewed as best as he could, not because of the abnormal taste, but also because his dental visit had cost him his two broken teeth. He had a large gap where they used to sit in his gums, and he had tongued at the gap for the entire night.

"Those guys can be pretty pesky, if you ask me," came a soft whisper that was taking a seat next to him. The Joker looked toward the source and met a man with sallow skin and deep set eyes. His crooked smile met The Joker's stern glare.

"The orderlies?" The Joker asked. "Or the guys who like to disturb people while they're eating?"

The man smirked. "I guess both. I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane."

The Joker leaned back with a mouthful of eggs and looked at the man's bright orange jumpsuit. "They change the dress code?" he asked as he leaned back into his tray to take another sip of milk.

Crane looked at the table and sighed. "Well, I _was_ a doctor...practicing here...maybe you've heard of me from other --"

"No," The Joker interrupted, trying his best to crunch on his hard bacon.

"Well, then maybe you've of why I'm here? I've made a special toxin that, when sprayed at my victims, can make their worst fears seem very real and --"

"Uh uh..." He took another bite of eggs.

"I'm known as Scarecrow!" Crane said abruptly.

The Joker gulped down his first carton of milk and looked at his guest with wide eyes. He set his fork down and turned to him with a grin, making Crane reciprocate his expression.

"Oooh!" The Joker mused. Then he shook his head. "Nope."

Crane growled in frustration, but a cautious glare from The Joker caused him to delay any unnecessary behavior. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, "So...who is attending to you?"

"Why should I tell you that?"

"It's just a simple question," Crane replied, irritably. "It's a lot better than having myself be ripped apart with your snarky comments."

"You'd like it better if I actually ripped you apart?" The Joker asked in a deep voice. "Of course, I'm not sure how much damage a plastic fork could do, but...I'm willing to try it." He picked up a piece of petrified bacon. "Or maybe this would work better..."

"You're impossible..." Crane groaned.

"She'll find out soon enough..." The Joker muttered.

"She?" his guest asked, raising an intrigued eyebrow. "Ahh...Dr. Quinzel's new patient, I presume?"

The Joker shrugged. "If you must...yes."

"Interesting..."

"How so?" he growled.

Crane folded his hands on the table. "She's rather new; I'm surprised that Dr. Arkham would allow her to have such a...high-profile case...such as yours. I wouldn't be shocked if she practically begged him to give her your files. They do have a certain...celebrity quality about them."

He paused to see if The Joker would retort, but when he got nothing, he continued, "After all, if she had the ability to make her professors give her passing grades, then it wouldn't be really big news if Dr. Harleen Quinzel was doing a few...'favors'...to the good doctor in order to get patients."

The Joker tried his best to ignore him until Crane leaned in closer and whispered, "She is a lovely girl, though. If I ever get my license reinstated...I wouldn't mind putting her on _my_ couch...and examining her myself."

The Joker suddenly slammed his second empty milk carton onto the table so hard that it flattened under his palm. Crane jumped in his seat slightly and stared at the poor carton as it seeped out leftover chocolate milk.

He was brought out of his shock when The Joker turned to him and glared into his wide eyes. "I think it would be good for you, Crane," he snarled. "If you stayed as far away from me as possible...and from my doctor." He looked over at Bobby and the orderly came over to him as he presented his wrists for the cuffs. "Have a pleasant day...'Doctor,'" he said with an eerily cheerful tone as he walked away with his escort.


	4. No Different

Harleen sat in the interview room as she waited for her patient to arrive. She glanced at her watch and tapped her right foot that was snug in her tall green high heel. The Joker's file sat open in front of her and she stared at her notes that were scribbled onto a small, yellow sheet of paper.

She sighed as she took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Before she had traversed to her appointment, Dr. Leland had stopped her to give her The Joker's physical results.

"Here are his test readings," Dr. Leland said as she handed her a file. "They're quite impressive. However, Dr. Arkham would like for you to fill out this questionnaire with him today. He said they never got around to doing it at his physical."

Harleen opened the file and looked at the questionnaire. "Joan...these are pretty personal..."

"As his doctor, Harleen, you need to be able to ask personal questions. Your sessions are for this purpose. These are just a few health questions that we need to bring to the Board for statistical studies." She quickly glanced down at Harleen's stiletto shoes and said, "How did your first session go, by the way?"

Harleen had shrugged and replied, "We're just getting started, Joan, but I will say this: he admitted to me that he's a user. I think his coke addiction may explain some of his erratic behavior."

"Interesting," Dr. Leland stated, raising an eyebrow. "So...how are you addressing this besides prescribing meds?"

Harleen's eyes grew wide. "Dr. Arkham told you --"

"Dr. Quinzel. I'm here to assist you should you need any advice. Are you sure that the baclofen will help? It's only going to treat his ticks and not his addiction."

"I'm quite aware of that..._Doctor_ Leland," Harleen said through gritted teeth. "You're forgetting that I also have a PhD in Psychiatry and Psychological Studies. If you think that I'm going to allow Dr. Arkham to have you tail my every move --"

Dr. Leland held up a calm hand. "Harleen, please. I insisted. I volunteered my help...not Jeremiah." Harleen sighed and gripped her faux leather valise tightly at her left side as her colleague continued, "As I was saying, the baclofen will not treat the withdrawals he will have, and if he's been using for a while...well, who knows how he'll be. He may be worse."

"Uh huh," Harleen sneered as she put a hand to her hip. "I can see that you and Jerry have been talking about this very deeply."

"When _Dr. Arkham _told me that you were assigned such a homicidal sociopath as The Joker..."

"You're already putting labels on him?" Harleen suddenly fired back. "He's _my_ patient, Joan. _I'll_ diagnose him!"

Dr. Leland cleared her throat as she pursed her lips and straightened her lab coat. "You'd better give us a diagnosis soon, then, Dr. Quinzel. Otherwise, Jeremiah will have to reassign you again."

"Not this time, Joan," Harleen told her. "I'll make sure of it."

As Harleen thought of their recent conversation, she was flicking the tip of her pen onto the table with fervent taps as she stared at the yellow hue of her notepad.

How dare Dr. Leland give her such an order! And what was she trying to prove by checking in on her? She had barely started with a new patient and Dr. Arkham was supposedly threatening to reassign her already.

She sighed again. "He's had it out for me ever since I took Dr. Crane's place. But hey...it isn't my fault Crane turned out to be a psychopath." Harleen suddenly grinned smugly. "He was Jerry's favorite, after all. Now he's behind glass. Smooth one, Doc."

The door creaked open as she giggled to herself and before she knew it, The Joker had been placed in the chair across from her and Bobby had already closed the door behind them. She raised her eyes as she stopped her chuckling, putting on her glasses again and straightening his file in front of him.

He cocked his head amusedly, asking, "What's so funny, Doc?"

Harleen grinned at him. "Nothing really..." She cleared her throat and cautiously leaned forward. "So...how was your date with Dr. Maier?"

The Joker sniffed. "Dr. Maier? Hmm...Oh! You mean the Nazi with the iron toothpick?" He paused to snicker. "I no longer have broken teeth." He opened his mouth wide and leaned his head back to give his doctor a glance at the gap between his right back teeth. "I didn't get a prize for being a good boy, though."

"Aw," Harleen said, jokingly. "You poor thing. Well, I have something for you, but...promise me you won't treat it like candy." She reached into her lab coat pocket and placed the small, orange pill bottle in front of him. "I told you that we had meds for your tick. It's a very small dosage."

The Joker's grin slowly left his face as he stared at the bottle. "So...will this cure my so-called addiction?"

"Not at all," his doctor replied. "But it will help control your muscle spasms while you're sobering up. I'm afraid Dr. Arkham doesn't allow rehabilitation drugs of that kind to be prescribed. You'll have to...if I may put it bluntly...sweat that part out of you."

"I have to quit 'cold turkey?'" he asked simply.

"Basically..."

He sighed and raised his cuffed hands to run his fingers through his hair. He picked up the pill bottle and shook it gingerly, creasing his brow as he read over the label. "Do I need to keep this under my pillow or something?"

Harleen shook her head. "The nurse will begin administering them to you tomorrow morning, but how about you try one out?" She put her valise into her lap and opened it. A water bottle was extracted from it and she opened it and placed it in front of him. "How about it, Mr. Joker? Let's give it a chance."

"What if it ends up not working?" he raised his brow before he took a well-needed sip of cold water.

Harleen smirked. "Then we can gradually taper you off the meds, but I think it'll help immensely. Trust me..."

The Joker raised his eyes and looked at his doctor. No one had asked him to trust them before, and now this petite woman in white was willing to give something as noble as her trust to him, a man who had destroyed lives in his path of chaos.

He sighed as he tried to open the bottle. He grunted as he set it back down. "Child-proof?" he grinned.

Harleen returned his smile and opened the bottle. "I'm sure those cuffs don't help either." She fished out a small, round tablet and, holding it in the palm of her hand, extended her arm out toward him for him to take his first dosage.

The Joker stared at the small hand in his view and quickly examined her perfectly trim nails. They weren't too long, but they were neatly filed. He could tell however that she manicured herself as her fingertips looked dry and her cuticles were in need of treatment.

He smirked at the meekness of her hygiene and gently took the pill.

Harleen's foot shuffled under the table as she felt his fingertip trail along the skin of her palm. His nails were slightly long and she could tell that his daily showers still hadn't reached all of the dirt that was still underneath them.

Was it dirt...or was it blood?

The Joker popped the tablet into his mouth and raised his bottle of water to her. "Cheers..." he took a swig and water dribbled down his chin as he took deep gulps. He set the bottle back onto the table and wiped the droplets from his face. He sat quietly as he looked at Harleen. "I don't feel anything."

Harleen giggled. "It may take a few hours to kick in, but you'll feel it." She readied her pen as she took out another file from her valise. "So...would you like to know how your physical exam went?"

"Sure..." he muttered as he leaned back in his chair.

She shuffled through the papers in front of her. "Well, I must say...you've impressed our doctors."

He grinned. "Oh, really? Why's that?"

"They're baffled at how...healthy you are. Your blood test results were perfect, especially your cholesterol and glucose levels. I'm amazed myself, to be honest; I never thought you could be perfectly healthy with your lifestyle."

"And just...what kind of lifestyle...is that?" The Joker asked quietly.

"For starters, you have no permanent home, and no routine that people generally have when it comes to their health, like three meals a day. I'm sure, however, you get plenty of exercise with all the running around the city that you do." She placed a strand of blond hair that had fallen out of her tight bun behind her ear and leaned forward over her notes. "I'm curious...when do you eat?"

The Joker sighed as he continued to lean back in his chair. "I eat when I can, Doc. I have some pretty close ties with owners of a few Family restaurants. You ever heard of Antonio's?"

Harleen nodded. "Yes, I have...that's in a pretty bad part of town."

"You wouldn't care if you had his manicotti..." he quipped.

"So, I take it you know Antonio."

"Yep. And he knows me...and what I can do if he tries to go behind my back."

"Behind your back?"

He leaned forward and traced a groove on the table. "He knows that if he continues to allow me in his restaurant...then he's safe." He looked up at her inquisitive eyes.

Harleen smirked. "You mean...he pays you...for protection?"

"Sort of..."

"Then you're no better than the Mob that you've been ripping off all this time," she boldly stated.

The Joker lifted his head and sat up straight in his chair. "I'm nothing like the Mob. You should know that from everything I've done."

"You get paid for protecting a humble restaurant owner..."

"Humble?" The Joker chuckle. "It's clear you haven't met him, Doc. You wouldn't call him that if you knew the things he's done...the things he did in his restaurant...things that could shut him down and liquidate what little income he gets from that place..."

"You blackmail him...and he pays you...sounds like a Mob operation to me."

The Joker groaned as he shuffled in his chair. "He pays me in food...I don't care about money."

"Obviously...seeing as how you burned it..." Harleen pointed out with a smirk.

He folded his hands on the table as a small smile crept onto his face. He licked his bottom lip before taking another gulp of water.

She does have a cute little grin, The Joker thought to himself.

Harleen cleared her throat again and nervously took out the questionnaire that Dr. Leland had given her. "Now...there is one more...exam...I have to give you..."

"Oh yeah? I didn't know I was going to be quizzed my first week."

She clicked her pen. "It's just a few more medical questions...if I get too personal...please, tell me."

He leaned back in his chair and caressed the palm of his left hand as he muttered, "I've got nothing to hide, Doc..."

Harleen adjusted her glasses. "Name?"

The Joker laughed and shook his head. "Why would you ask me that, Doc...when you already know my name?"

She quickly jotted down his public moniker and continued, "I guess that was a moot point. Next. Uh...age?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Now it's getting interesting. How old do you think I am?"

"Mr. Joker, we only have an hour and a half for our sessions. Please try to answer some of these."

"Come on. Guess. It doesn't matter to me anyway."

She paused to give him a serious look and was annoyed when all she got in reply was a mischievous glitter in his eyes.

Is that how it's gonna be? Harleen asked herself. Okay, Mr. Joker...

She jotted down a number and read the next question. "Number three --"

"What did you write?" he interrupted.

She looked and shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

He cocked his head. "Doc? I'm interested...to hear what you think..."

Harleen smirked. "I just put an age range." She looked down at her paper as her smile grew bigger. "Age 35-45..." she muttered.

"Oh, come on!" he exclaimed with a chuckle. "Gimme some credit, here."

She giggled. "Okay, okay...uhh...we'll say 28...better?"

The Joker's smile faded as he tried to find a retort to her joke. Instead, he sighed, "Next..."

Harleen smiled to herself as she read, "Number three..." She paused again and looked at him. "Like I said, Mr. Joker. These are very personal, so please --"

"Next..." he repeated as he closed his eyes.

She bit her lip and read, "How many...sexual partners...have you had in the past 2 years?"

The question made him sit straight up in his chair and a big smile etched onto his face. "Correction: _now_ it's getting interesting. Haha!"

"It's stupid, I know..."

He creased his brow. "What? Sex?"

Harleen shook her head. "No, no. These questionnaires. They're just for stupid statistics...we all had to fill this out."

The Joker sighed. "Even you?"

She raised her wide eyes and her lips parted in surprise. She sighed. "Yes...and it was rather embarrassing. Thankfully, the staff's results were anonymous..."

"Three..." The Joker murmured.

"What?" Harleen asked, blinking absently.

"Three partners...wait..." he paused to think. "No, no...two...the second one I paid two visits to..."

Harleen stared at him blankly and she felt a small lump in her throat, and her stomach suddenly became unsettled. She took a sharp breath and wrote down his answer. "Okay...um..." She bit her bottom lip again, but The Joker's voice interrupted her.

"Do I have to go into detail?"

"No," she said abruptly. "It's okay...these are basically one-word answers..."

The Joker noticed her uneasiness and he scratched his neck as he said, "I will if you want me to..." When she didn't respond but just sat quietly in her chair looking at her notes, he continued, "They were both prostitutes...the second one...well, I was a repeat customer...I really liked her; she was fun...until I found out that...her pimp wasn't too fond of the fact that I...tried to leave my mark on her..."

Harleen's eyes raised to look at him and she found him once again tracing his finger along the table. "She was one of those girls that...didn't mind being slapped around during sex," he resumed, licking his lips between pauses. "One night, I take out my little knife and...suggest we play a different game. Of course, she agreed. I was paying her and sharing my blow, after all. So, I tie her to the bed...take off her clothes...and I start to trace her thighs with my blade..."

His doctor gripped her clipboard tightly as she listened. "Her moaning was very nice...and I could tell she was enjoying it...until I cut a small line into her hip. Then, she screamed...don't get me wrong. I loved the way she screamed, but at the same time, it annoyed me to no end because...with every cut I gave her...her screams got louder and louder."

Harleen held her breath as she stared at him, hardly believing at how much he was opening up to her, but even more so that he was revealing how he was torturing this poor girl.

"When her pimp finally showed up...from all her screaming...he saw the pool of blood she was lying in...she was writhing around on the bed and before I knew it, he had a gun to my head." He paused and smirked at her. "But I was quicker. With a flick of my wrist...his neck was open...and I left."

Harleen finally exhaled and asked quietly, "You...you left her there...tied up and bleeding? What happened to her?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Who cares? She was a prostitute."

"She was a human being."

"Who got paid for sex," was his rebuttal. He saw her bewildered expression and snickered, "Don't worry...I left the money on the bedside table."

"Were you under the influence when you did this?" she asked him as she took notes in the margin of his questionnaire.

"Under the influence?" he asked darkly.

"Yes. Were you high on coke?"

The Joker suddenly leaned forward, making his doctor move her chair back from the table. "I don't have to be high to do things like that, Doc! You knew that already, yet you asked that stupid question. Everyone here knows that, high or not, I'm capable of doing things that 'normal' people aren't able to do, I mean...isn't that why you're...'examining' me, Doc?"

They stared at one another, his dark eyes burning into her bright blues as his fingertips gripped the table top. His lip was beginning to curl in a vicious sneer as he gazed at her, but she kept her temperament and took off her glasses. She set them in front of her and set her papers beside them as she leaned forward. She carefully put her hands on the edge of the table and replied, "That's interesting that you ask that, Mr. Joker...because I was just about to ask you...why do _you_ think you do...the things you do? Just where in that oversized ego is the rationality of what you do?"

The Joker turned his head away from her, but kept his eyes to her, giving her a threatening sideways glance as she continued, "You go to all the trouble to steal money...then you burn it...you rip off the Mob...yet you go to their restaurants and protect them...what _is_ your motive? Do you have a schedule, Mr. Joker? Because while it appears that you just do violent things on a whim...it seems to me...that you have a plan...a schedule...a customary way of doing things..."

"I am far from customary, little girl..." he told her with a growl.

Harleen smirked, amused at the fact that this was the first time he had given her an indirect threat, even it was a small one. "But you need plans, right? No one blows up a hospital just because they feel like it all of a sudden. You had to have planned that, getting blueprints of the hospital, making the bomb, picking a perfect spot to plant it..." She paused and saw how impatient he was getting, but she decided to leave him with, "Like I said earlier...you're no different from the Mobsters you rip off..."

The Joker suddenly grabbed her wrist and squeezed as she gasped in surprise. He stayed in his seat as he tried to express his anger to his doctor, but he suddenly felt dizzy. Instead, he glared at her as she kept a calm expression, his grip growing tighter around her wrist and her bright eyes shining at him.

Where did she get off speaking to him like that? What kind of shrink was she and what was she trying to prove?

Statistics, my ass, The Joker told himself. She's deliberately trying to provoke me and if that's what she wants, she'll get it!

The lump in Harleen's throat returned as his sweaty palm stayed wrapped around her arm. She glanced at the muscles in his forearm, but then they darted away when he suddenly released her. He looked up at her with tired eyes and said quietly, "I think...the meds are..."

Harleen put her freed wrist in her lap and rubbed it. "Drowsiness is a side effect."

The Joker licked his bottom lip and scratched his head. "Well, let's get these...questions...over with, then."

"You know what?" She crumpled the questionnaire into a tight, wrinkled ball and threw it onto the floor. "Don't worry about it."

He slowly grinned at her as his eyes began to droop. "I guess I didn't pass the quiz."

Harleen couldn't help but smile. "It's okay...you still get a prize." She reached into her lab coat pocket again and pulled out a purple lollipop. "We promise not to poke you with any more needles or hooks."

He laughed softly as she placed it in front of him. He picked it up as she called out, "Bobby."

The orderly came into the room as she motioned toward The Joker. "Please take him to his cell. He feels a bit drowsy."

"Yes, ma'am, Doctor," Bobby complied.

He helped The Joker to his feet and led him out of the room. "Until next time, Doc," he called to her as the door shut behind them. She smiled as she bent to pick up her valise and picked up the wrinkled paper she had dropped.

When Harleen got back to her office, she smoothed out the paper and quickly added her notes to her notepad. She couldn't believe how much he had told her...and it was only their second session.

"Maybe you should slow it down, Harl," she told herself out loud. "You don't want to oppress him enough to make him shut down...if that were even possible..."

She opened her drawer to take out a highlighter when she spied her letter opener. She stared at the sharp tip of the blade and thought about the many cuts The Joker had left on the poor prostitute in his story. Harleen could only imagine the immense pain, but she also couldn't help but wonder what became of her. Did she bleed to death? Was she found and untied and her wounds treated? How could he just leave her there? And still pay for his visit?!

Harleen shook her head at his logic. '_She's a prostitute_,' he had said, without a care in the world. She wasn't a human to him, but a thing...a disposable object that wouldn't be missed.

Still...he had a point. She wasn't living a decent life to begin with, so what difference would one less prostitute make in this city?

She shook her head to snap her out of her sudden cynical reasoning. She slammed her desk drawer shut and began to type her notes into her computer.


	5. Further Back

"Take a nap, clown," Bobby muttered as he pushed The Joker through the sliding door of his cell.

He stumbled over to the stall that shielded his toilet and put his back against it, his eyelids getting heavier as he watched the orderly slam the door shut. The echoing clang left a ringing sensation in his ears and he shook his head as if to shake away the vibration in his skull.

The Joker suddenly felt thirsty again and raised the water bottle that was still in his hands, but not only did he find the bottle empty but he also found that Bobby had left on the handcuffs.

"Bastard," he whispered to himself as he threw down the bottle and shuffled his slippered feet to his cot. He grunted as he sat down onto the hard mattress and pressed his back against the wall, bringing his legs off the ground and crossing them in front of him.

The last thing he remembered was grabbing Dr. Quinzel's wrist after she had pretty much degraded him to his face. The little doctor was getting bolder...and it was only their second session. He could tell that she was going to be a challenge; she acted as if nothing bothered her, but he could tell that his story about the prostitute had shocked yet interested her.

It was all a lie, of course: the amount of sexual partners, the pimp, the money he paid her before he had walked out. There was no sex at all between him and the girl. The only truth to the story was that he had cut her up and left her there to bleed to death.

Not that he had anything against sex, but why should he have to pay for something that was pleasurable? If he really wanted to fuck her, he would have just taken it and she would be glad of it, and if she wouldn't have been...who would have cared? She was a whore; it was in her job description to be a piece of meat.

"Oooh, shit..." he abruptly groaned and put his face in his hands as he leaned back onto his cot. His right hand began to tremble and he let out another frustrated groan as his head began to spin. He stared at the ceiling and felt a lump beginning to climb into his throat and, just when he thought he was about to get sick, his right hand stopped shaking and the wave was over.

The Joker sighed deeply and slowly sat up and looked around the room. He sat still for a couple of minutes and noticed that the muscles in his neck began to relax. He walked over to the sink to splash cold water on his face, but was startled when he heard the door to his cell slide open again.

He turned to see Dr. Quinzel entering the room with Sly standing guard at the open door. She stood close to the wall as she inched her way inside, clutching her files close to her chest as he stared back at her with sleepy eyes. "Are you okay?" her timid voice asked softly.

The Joker came over to his toilet and leaned against the metal partition. "I've been better..." he grumbled back at her.

Harleen grinned as she took one step closer to the middle of the cell. "I wanted to see how you would react to the medicine. It will take some getting used to, but I promise it won't hurt you."

The Joker snickered. "I'm not afraid of being hurt, Doc," he scoffed. "I'm more afraid of getting my brain scrambled." He rubbed his temple as he heard her quiet giggling. "Don't laugh..." he said, pretending that it hurt his feelings.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Joker,' Harleen told him. "I also came by because I forgot to ask you in our session: how are you getting along in the rec room?"

He shrugged. "Okay...I don't really mingle; not my style."

"I think it's very important that you try your best to talk to others. It's quite a privilege that Dr. Arkham is even letting you out of your cell all day."

"He's not doing me any favors..." The Joker muttered as he rubbed his scars.

Harleen pursed her lips. "So...what do you do?"

He cleared his throat. "Mostly just...stare out the window. Not much to look at, but...it's a lot better than staring at the wall."

Harleen carefully sat herself down in the chair on the other side of the cell. "Well," she started. "Maybe you should try to mingle." When she saw the doubtful look on his face, she said, "Okay...why not take up a hobby? I don't know if you've noticed but there are plenty of sketch pads in there and also models of cars and boats that you can busy yourself with and --"

"No offense, Doc," The Joker interrupted her as he sat on his cot again. "But I never considered myself an artist of any kind and I haven't put together a model car since I was nine..." He stopped himself to see if she had started to write down the fact that he had mentioned just a brief memory of his childhood, but to his surprise she continued to look at him as he spoke.

He blamed the effects of the medication, but the scent of her flowery perfume flooded his nostrils and it made his head swim, but not with an ill feeling. His lids were fighting sleep as he looked back at her when she resumed speaking.

Harleen sighed. "There must be something you could do. I know that if I were in a quiet cell all night that my mind would be racing with lots of..." She paused to smile. "Have you ever kept a journal?" she asked him.

He chuckled. "Do you really want me to? _Me_?" He thought about her idea for a moment and it sounded practical. "Couldn't hurt, I guess. Am I supposed to turn it in to you at the end of every week?"

His doctor smirked. "Not at all. This isn't a homework assignment, Mr. Joker. I think it'll be great. I used to keep a journal when I was a little girl and every thought I had was put onto paper. It made me feel better that I had some kind of outlet for my anger or my fears or my..." She stopped herself and cleared her throat. "I'll bring one for you tomorrow. In the meantime, try your best today to get along with the other patients in the rec room."

The Joker grinned at how she had almost opened up to him by talking about _her_ childhood, and he nodded. "I've been a pretty good boy so far, Doc."

Harleen smiled at him and turned to leave, but soon stopped herself in the doorway. "Oh. Your cuffs."

She was about to turn to Sly to grab his keys from him, but she bit her lip as she stopped her action. Did she really want to risk getting too close to him without the barrier of a fold-out table between them?

She decided not to risk her neck and motioned for the orderly to take off his restraints. Sly walked past her as she turned and walked to the elevators.

At lunch time, Harleen walked into the employee lounge to take her lunch of left-over chicken salad from the community fridge. As she bent down to retrieve her meal, she heard the door open and a loud whistle brought her to raise herself to the source. She smiled as she saw Richard approaching a table with his brown bag and sitting himself down as she prepared her salad. "Hey, good-lookin'," he smirked.

She smiled as she joined him at the table. "Hey, there," she said coyly as sat next to him. She was caught off guard when he suddenly leaned in, cupped her chin, and kissed her gently on the lips. She let out a surprised moan and licked her lips when he pulled away. "What...what was that for?" she asked as she opened her Tupperware bowl.

"I don't know," Richard replied. "I guess I feel...a bit like an ass for leaving you like I did the other night. I know you wanna...slow down and stuff but...I can't help but get frustrated sometimes...especially with how damn sexy you look in flannel pajama pants."

Harleen giggled as she took a bite of her lunch. "All for you, baby."

Richard chuckled as he opened his brown bag and took out his ham and cheese sandwich. "So...how's the new patient?"

"I told you...interesting. I had to prescribe him some meds because he has chronic muscle spasms." She looked at him as he opened his soda. "Is Doctor Arkham having you work late tonight?"

"Yeah," he answered. "Asshole. He's got Andrew on my schedule with me, though."

"I thought he only worked on the weekends."

"Not ever since he beat the shit outta The Joker the night he showed up here..." Harleen nearly choked on her bite of chicken salad and Richard patted her on the back. "Eat much?" he asked, sarcastically.

"I'm okay..." she managed to squeak out as she swallowed her food. "Why...why did he beat him up?"

Richard shrugged. "He said some shit about his wife and his brother...the cop that brought him in let Andrew take a swing at him with his club. Andrew clocked the guy out; I would have, too, if he ever said stuff like that about _my_ girl."

Harleen smirked, not just because Richard felt that way about her, but because The Joker had teased the guard about Andrew's wife having an affair with his younger brother. All the other security guards that worked with him and Richard knew it to be true, and she had to take another bite of her lunch before she started to giggle again.

"Well," Harleen said with a whimper. "I'll miss you tonight."

He put his arm around her. "I'll make it up to you, sweetheart," he cooed and began to nibble her ear.

"Richard!" she laughed. "Not here! Stop! Haha!"

The door opened and they stopped their flirting and turned to see Andrew the guard come in with his lunch. He smirked, saying, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Harleen poked her fork at her chicken and said, "No...not anymore. I have to get back to work." She closed the lid tightly on her lunch and stood up to put it back in the fridge.

"Harl..." Richard said. "You barely ate anything. You okay?"

She sighed. She really felt alright, but after Richard told her about The Joker getting hit by Andrew, a knot began to form in her stomach and when Andrew had come into the lounge, she suddenly wanted to avoid both men and go back to her office. "I'm okay, babe," she assured him. "I just...have a lot of work to do."

"Oh...okay. Be careful around those crazies, you hear?"

Andrew sat a chair away from Richard as he muttered, "Especially that sick clown..."

Harleen bit her tongue to keep from barking back at how stupid he was for hitting her patient before he had even stepped through the asylum's doors, and she just nodded at him and gave her boyfriend a quick peck on the lips. "I'll see you later," she whispered to him.

She got onto the elevator and traveled down to the secure unit where The Joker's cell was, and as soon as the doors opened she came face to face with Dr. Arkham. Harleen jumped slightly and he grinned. "Sorry, Dr. Quinzel. I didn't mean to startle you."

She chuckled. "It's okay, Dr. Arkham. I was just going to your office. " She was lying. She wanted to go down to the rec room to see if The Joker had been taken there. Harleen wasn't very trusting of his orderlies and she suddenly realized that that was rather strange for her. She usually appreciated the fact that they were always around the patients to ensure that they didn't try to attack the nurses and doctors, but she couldn't quite figure out why she doubted that Sly and Bobby were doing their jobs.

"Well," Dr. Arkham began. "What did you want to see me about, Doctor? I'm just on my way to a meeting with the Board."

"That's just it, Dr. Arkham," Harleen told him as he stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. "It's about that questionnaire you had me fill out with The Joker."

Dr. Arkham sighed. "He didn't do it, did he?"

"No, sir. He did...well, he didn't exactly finish it."

"Dr. Quinzel, the Board needs that test for their studies."

"But why?" She realized that she had let that question slip out unconsciously. Harleen straightened herself when her boss gave her a rather surprised expression.

"Why?" he asked back at her. "It's for statistical studies; you know that, Doctor. The staff all had to do one and --"

"Yes, I know, but...you've never had me fill one out with my other patients. Why did you start with The Joker?"

Dr. Arkham looked away and sighed. "I...I wasn't going to say this to you until you've progressed further in your sessions, Doctor, but..." He suddenly pressed the red 'Stop' button in the elevator car and looked back at his young employee as he continued, "I'm working with Commissioner Gordon and his forensics unit. All those blood tests we had done on The Joker were not just done to gauge his health but also to check into his criminal history."

Harleen was taken aback and stammered, "B-but...when he was arrested the first time...didn't they already try to determine that? They took blood to check for DNA, looked at his teeth...ha! They even tried to trace his clothing!"

"This reaches further back, Harleen."

She looked at her boss with wide eyes. In the time that she had been at the asylum, Dr. Arkham had never addressed her by her first name until now.

He sighed and turned to her. "Be careful with him. He has a tendency to get into people's heads. That's why he had so many followers...there are many of them still out on the streets and may be trying to do everything they can to protect him. He has a persuasive way about him, Doctor."

Harleen licked her lips and asked, "Then...why did you assign _me_?"

He pressed the 'Stop' button and the elevator jumped to a start again and he replied, "Because...something inside me says that you can reach him, that you can get him to talk. You already use very forward and unconventional methods with your other patients, and, yes, I've had to reassign them from you...but I only did so because...they didn't need you anymore. You helped them."

Harleen looked away and sighed. "I...helped them? That's why you --?" She shook her head, confusedly. "But if he's as dangerous as you say he is...then...I don't understand, Doctor --"

"You will...once you continue your sessions. But, Dr. Quinzel," he said as he walked out of the elevator. "You need to keep what I've told you to yourself. You can't tell anyone...not even Richard."

Harleen nodded and rubbed her neck nervously as Dr. Arkham concluded with, "Keep your wits about you, Harleen. He's even more dangerous than what you've heard from the media."

"But, Dr. Arkham!" she called to him as the elevators closed. "What are they trying to find out that they couldn't --?"

The elevator doors closed and the only sense of reality that Harleen could grasp at that moment was the sound of the elevator motor sputtering and the feeling of the knot entangling itself around her stomach once more.


	6. There's One in Every Deck

**Not much in this chapter...just thought I'd give you something to entertain yourselves with while I cook up the next chapter. :-D **

The Joker sat in a metal folding chair as he gazed out of the window of the rec room. The view wasn't much; it was a clear day and he could see the tops of the trees, but the rest of them were blocked by the concrete walls of the asylum's wards and razor wire fences. He did, however, take in slow, deep breaths of the air from outside as he knew that he was only capable of smelling air like this for two hours a day.

It was the only luxury he had during this time as the quiet chatting from the other patients in the room flooded his ears, but it would soon be blocked out by his own thoughts of how he could easily climb out of the window and start running for the fences. He knew that was just a folly for now because of the guards that were standing at every wall of Arkham.

He shut his eyes and took another deep breath. His session that morning with Dr. Quinzel had taken an unexpected turn. He had gripped her wrist so tightly that he felt he could easily rip it off, but his medication had kicked in as if on cue and he had no choice but to store that feeling as a mere memory.

Her skin had felt nice, though. He couldn't remember the last time he had touched someone like that. The only time he had made physical contact with anyone was when he was about to kill them. The way he had clutched her small wrist wasn't only a feeling of power; he had felt a tinge of desire, like he wanted to keep holding her.

The sound of the window being shut forced The Joker to open his eyes and he spied a rather short man walking away from him, a book in his hand.

The Joker sneered and shot out of his chair and opened the window again. The little man turned around to see him move his chair closer and prop his feet onto the window sill. This annoyed him to no end, so he walked back to the window and pushed The Joker's feet back to the floor.

He realized his mistake when a foot met his face and made him fall onto his back, his book falling open beside him. "I say!" the little man cried. "What gives you the right to knock me over like that?"

"What gives you the right to interrupt my relaxation?" The Joker barked back.

The little man lifted himself up and grabbed his book. "I'll have you know that the wind is bothering my ability to read." He looked at his book and shrieked, "You've made me lose my place, you nitwit!"

"Correction: you falling backward made you lose your place, Bucky," The Joker replied.

"Bucky? Why would you...?" The man gasped. "Are you making a jest of my teeth, young man?!"

The Joker couldn't help but toss his head back and laugh at this man's tantrum. "Take it easy, shrimp."

"Well, I never! You _shouldn't_ be allowed in here, I say! Jonathan! Did you see what this ghastly delinquent just did to me?"

The Joker raised his eyes to see Crane lope over to the commotion and he chuckled as he said, "Tell your boyfriend to can it, Crane. I'm trying to relax."

Crane furrowed his brow in annoyance. "If you want to relax, I suggest you go back to your cell and stop pestering everyone."

The Joker turned and looked behind him to see that the other patients were watching the fray. He stood up and faced them, saying, "I'm not pestering you, am I?"

The patients shook their heads and quickly turned their attention back to their present activities.

He looked back at Crane, smirking. "Don't you see, Crane? I'm the victim here, not this guy. Now..." He bent over toward the small man who was still trying to search for his lost place in his book. "Why don't you take a Valium and go back to Loompa Land?"

"You...you..." the man sputtered, but Crane held him back.

"Take it easy, Jervis," he told him. "This clown only knows how to use action rather than words like we gentlemen use."

The Joker snickered. "Jervis? What kinda name is that?"

"It means 'conqueror!'" Jervis Tetch declared proudly. "It was my father's name, as was his father's, and -- "

"Conqueror?!" The Joker guffawed. "You can't even hold a book in your hand without losing your place!"

"_You_ lost my place, you scalawag!"

"Jervis! Come now..." Crane said, trying to lead a red-faced Tetch away from The Joker. "We don't have any business mixing with his sort..."

The Joker creased his brow and cocked his head. "Oh! And what 'sort' am I, Crane? The sort that sprays green gas in people's faces so I can spook them with my pillow case?"

Crane stopped in his tracks as Tetch walked back to his armchair with his precious book. He slowly turned to The Joker and smirked. "Well...I'm certainly not the type who wears makeup and loud clothing. That would make me look an 'attention-whore."

"So, I'm an 'attention-whore,' huh?" The Joker asked as he stepped closer to the ex-doctor. Just as he was about to rejoin with a snarky comment, Crane suddenly grinned.

"Speaking of whores...how's Dr. Quinzel?"

The Joker didn't know what came over him. His ears suddenly burned and the next thing he knew he had Crane pinned to the floor and his hands were wringing the breath out of him.

"Get off him, you beast!!" Tetch screamed at him.

"Not so gentlemanly now, are you?" The Joker growled as his hands squeezed tighter.

Suddenly, somewhere amidst the gasps and loud murmuring, a pair of hands grabbed The Joker's shoulders and pulled him off of Crane. "I warned you the first time, Crane!" he yelled as the stranger pulled him away from the crowd. "Stay the hell away from me!!"

As Crane was helped off the floor in a coughing heap, the stranger sat The Joker in a chair at a distant table and calmly walked to the other side of it. The Joker bent his head and stared at his lap as he tried to catch his breath.

How dare he refer to his doctor as a whore? He was just jealous that she had taken his office and his job! The Joker swore to himself that if Crane had ever spoken to him again that he would personally shove his glasses up his...

"You play cards?" the stranger's deep voice came from the other side of the table followed by the sound of a shuffling deck.

The Joker lifted his head at the sudden query and sniffed as he took a good look at his new friend.

He was very tall and bulky and, if it wasn't for the boyish face, the jagged teeth that peered behind his big mouth would seem almost monstrous. In fact, his entire muscular form was enveloped in a scaly skin that had the color of murky sewer water. It also appeared that an Arkham Asylum jumpsuit wasn't the appropriate attire for this type of patient as he was wearing dark red pants that were forming small tears along the outer seam and his white t-shirt was desperately trying to conceal his colossal torso.

The Joker sat straighter in his chair as he marveled at the specimen in front of him. He cleared his throat when he came out of his trance and said, "Yeah...I like cards."

The stranger smiled, his sharp teeth a deep yellow. "I figured as much..."

"You got a name?" The Joker asked him, this new patient beginning to interest him more and more.

The jagged smile disappeared and there came a deep reply, "Waylon...Waylon Jones...folks call me Croc."

The Joker mused the name for a moment and suddenly snapped back, "Killer Croc! I've heard of you...quite a rap sheet you got...and I thought I was ruthless."

Jones's smile returned. "None like you, man." His voice carried a deep growl behind every sentence he uttered. "You're the celebrity nowadays. Me? I've been here for a few months...out of the limelight."

The Joker watched Jones continue to shuffle and suddenly said, after licking his lips, "Well, go ahead...deal."

Jones stopped and looked at his new acquaintance. "Name your poison, Joker."

"I've always liked Black Jack, Waylon old boy..."

Jones smirked back as he dealt the cards. "Call me Croc. Waylon is dead..."

Harleen walked to the end of the hall of the secure unit to peer into the window of the rec room door. When she arrived, she noticed a few aides had beat her to it and were murmuring excitedly amongst themselves. She trotted over to the group and tapped one intern on the shoulder. "What's going on?" she asked, almost nervously.

The young man turned and grinned. "Croc's playing cards...with someone other than himself."

"Waylon?" Harleen grinned back. "That's great." She remembered that Croc usually sat by himself in the rec room, playing solitaire the whole time or dealing Poker hands to himself. "Who's playing with him?"

"That's the amazing thing," the intern answered. "It's The Joker."

Harleen's lips parted into a bigger grin. "Really?" She squeezed herself through the group and peered into the window. She saw that the intern was right and that her new patient was actually mingling and, what was even better, they appeared to be having a conversation. Croc was chuckling at what she assumed were The Joker's wisecracks and they were having a friendly game of cards. "This is so...oh my God...I'm so glad I came down here."

She suddenly turned away from the group and trotted back to the elevator, where she anxiously pushed the button for her floor to get to her office. Harleen couldn't wait to write something positive in his file. It was true that his admittance of his cocaine addiction and the brief mention of his boyhood had been encouraging, but to see him converse in a sociable manner with a fellow patient was a sure sign of progression. When the elevator doors opened to her floor, she bumped into a fellow doctor as she hurried to her office, but her wide grin prevented her noticing.

"So, Croc..." The Joker began, lifting a corner of his card and peering at the two of clubs that was face down underneath the queen of hearts. "What's your story? How'd you get here?"

"My story is long and boring, Joker," he replied as he looked at his three of diamonds and ace of spades. "Besides, most of us in here were put into Arkham for the same reason..."

The Joker paused and looked at his opponent. "And that is...?"

Croc pursed his lips and sighed. "The Batman..." he growled. "He sticks his nose where it doesn't belong. I'd made a nice home for myself...in the sewer system...don't sound to cozy, but it was home...I protected it from others that wanted to make it cleaner, but the dirt of Gotham is what I live in...and it's what I feed on...I wouldn't be who I am without the filth that pollutes this city..."

The Joker sneered slightly at his sudden admission of hatred to their common enemy, but shrugged it off by saying, "That makes two of us, Croc. Hit me..." He motioned to his cards.

Croc slapped a Jack of diamonds on top of The Joker's queen of hearts. His tongue darted onto the corners of his mouth as he peered up at the dealer, who was gazing at his new card, a six of clubs. "I call it..." The Joker muttered.

"You call it?" Croc grinned. "You got twenty right there, man. There's no way you got an ace under there."

"How would you know that?"

"I shuffle these cards every single day, Joker. I know how they're gonna lay better than you do..."

The Joker sniffed. "Fuck it..." he flipped his cards over to reveal the twenty-two he was hiding and Croc suddenly burst into laughter. The Joker couldn't help but chuckle, too, saying, "We should go to Vegas sometime..."

"Just as long as you stay away from the table. You stink," Croc said through his guffawing.

"Yeah, yeah," The Joker smiled. "Good thing we're not playing for money; I'd be cleaned out. I'm rusty, I guess."

"Yeah, sure...whatever, man," Croc chuckled as he gathered up their cards and began to shuffle again. "So...I couldn't help but overhear...Dr. Quinzel is your doc."

The Joker's smile suddenly left his scarred face as his ears began to burn again. "Yeah...what of it?" he asked darkly.

Croc caught the warning in his voice and shook his head. "Don't worry, man. I ain't got nothing against her. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be in the rec room everyday. At least I get to look out the window..."

The Joker leaned on his elbows on the table. "She's your doc, too?"

"She was...I got reassigned to another doctor after a few weeks. Shame...I like her. She's the only person here that didn't..." He paused and looked at his friend as he listened with interest. Croc looked down at the cards in his hands as he continued to absentmindedly shuffle. "When I first came here...I was beat up pretty bad...broken jaw, bloody lip, dislocated shoulder...The Batman was having too much fun, I guess."

He cut the deck and shuffled again, saying, "When I was being taken to my cell, most of the doctors and nurses around here sort of stood back when I walked by...like I was gonna jump at them and snap their heads off or something...I wanted to, with the way they were looking at me. But...I'm used to stares..."

"I hear ya..." The Joker muttered in agreement.

"Anyway, I remember stumbling over my own feet...I was dizzy from being punched in the head too many times that night. One of the guards...Richard, I think his name was...took out his club and I took another blow to the head. That's when I heard that sweet voice...telling him to stop. I looked up and there was Dr. Quinzel, taking his club away from him and giving him the evil eye." He paused to chuckle at the memory and shook his head. "I was amazed to see this little woman come to my defense; she wasn't afraid to look me in the eye.

"She helped me...she was the one that suggested I come in here everyday...even if I didn't talk to anyone...she thought the...uh, extra room, would help me. I guess it has in some ways...although I don't really like the company in here...pretty boring bunch...that is, until just a few minutes ago when I saw you trying to crush Crane's esophagus."

This made The Joker laugh, not just because of Croc's observation of his attack on Crane, but also because he discovered that his doctor had a sort of interest in caring for the violent and mentally unstable. She had, after all, been so keen on helping _him_.

He suddenly snapped away from his thoughts and asked, "You know...Crane had told me her first name before, but I can't quite remember..."

"Harleen," Croc quickly answered.

"Harleen Quinzel..." The Joker mused in a whisper. "Harleeeeen..." He let the vowels roll off his tongue as he bit off the nails from his right hand, which was slightly shaking from an oncoming withdrawal. "Harleen Quinzel..." He suddenly chuckled and closed his eyes, rubbing them with his thumbs.

"What's so funny?" Croc asked, setting aside his deck of cards.

"I knew she was...different...from the moment I met her..." The Joker said quietly as he carefully picked up the queen of hearts that had escaped from Croc's shuffling.


	7. One Step Closer

**Here ya go, kiddos! A slightly fluff chappie for ya...before we get to the good stuff...hehehehe...*evil grin***

Another hour passed as The Joker and Croc continued their Black Jack game, talking quietly about what they did before they were caught and thrown into the asylum. The Joker learned that Croc was in a small freak show in a two-bit carnival and lived on scraps from the cook and whatever kids would want to throw at him. "Ah, the old tomato and cabbages gag," The Joker sighed as he listened.

Croc grinned. "Only if they were in season...I usually got half-eaten candy bars and popcorn. One guy threw a chicken at me one night. I kept it in my cage until the hunger really got to me." He stopped himself and leaned back in his chair. "Funny..."

"What's funny?" The Joker asked, moving his cards out of the way and leaning forward.

"I feel like I'm on Dr. Quinzel's couch again..." He looked over at his friend and put his large hand on the table. "I don't have to tell you that, though. You know what it's like."

The Joker sniffed and popped his neck. "Actually, Croc...I haven't been good enough to get that couch."

"You're still in the interview room, then?" Croc asked in a tone that was matter-of-factly. "Strange...I only had one session in there with Dr. Arkham...then I turned up in Dr. Quinzel's office." He thought for a moment. "I got a feeling that you're still in there because of who you are."

"And I'm supposed to be more dangerous than you..._Killer_ Croc?" The Joker asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Croc chuckled and put their loose cards back in the deck. "I guess Dr. Arkham found me a bit more...docile...when I came in...then again, The Batman had been giving me too many blows to the head that it affected me for about a week. You, though...I don't know. Seems to me that Dr. Arkham doesn't trust you around his youngest employee..."

"Then why would she be my--?"

"He doesn't seem to trust you around the doctor...alone. There's a warder that stands outside the door, right?" The Joker nodded. "Well, there you go..."

"You think I could be a bad influence on such well-groomed girl like Dr..._Harleen_...Quinzel?"

The way the doctor's name rolled off his tongue gave Croc uneasy shivers down his neck, but he shrugged it off, saying, "I would bet on it...but it would be in my favor...seeing as how you been playing shitty hands since you sat down..."

There was a dull silence between them and then The Joker suddenly burst into a fit of laughter that echoed around the rec room. Croc was taken aback at first, but then suddenly followed suit. The Joker pounded the table with his fist as the other patients looked on, quite uncomfortably. The sudden eruption of joy made their skin crawl as the two new comrades guffawed in the middle of their quiet conversation.

Suddenly, The Joker's right hand slapped the table and he stopped laughing rather abruptly as he saw his fingers begin to twitch. He stood stock still as Croc's chuckling died down as well, and he looked at him, saying, "What'sa matter, Joker?" He noticed the trembling in his hand and looked at his friend's face and noticed that his heavy brow was beginning to sweat. "Hey, man? You okay?"

The Joker straightened in his chair as an unexpected surge rushed through his stomach and into his lungs, causing him to take a deep breath. He began to stand up, but his knees crumbled underneath him and he supported himself by leaning onto the table. The knot in his throat returned and a bead of sweat slowly ran down his temple.

"Maybe you should sit down," Croc's voice, suddenly thunderous in his ears, interrupted his deep breathing, but he obeyed the suggestion and gripped the table.

"I, uh..." The Joker began, clearing his throat. "I really don't...feel like card games anymore..."

Croc nodded. "Okay, man. It's cool." He glanced at the on-lookers, Crane edging closer to their table, a knowing yet curious expression on his face. Croc stood up and faced him. "You just gonna stare at him, Doc? Where's Maurice?" Crane looked at him, puzzled, but Croc rolled his eyes and walked past him. "Yo! Maurice!"

A young, bulky orderly came into the rec room and Crane watched as Croc pointed out the situation as he stepped closer to The Joker. He smirked as he watched him put his forehead to the cool wood of the table and take deeper breaths. He was now holding his stomach as Crane stood beside him.

"I knew it..." he whispered to The Joker as a guttural moan left his throat as he held his trembling hand. "You're nothing but a junkie..."

The Joker slowly lifted his tired eyes to Crane and sneered as he said softly, "I knew it, Crane..."

Crane cocked his head. "You knew...what?"

A fist suddenly landed into his stomach and he let out a surprised grunt and doubled over in pain, his knees landing hard onto the floor. The Joker placed his cheek on the table and grinned at Crane as he looked back up at him.

"You're nothing but a pussy..." The Joker snickered, but stopped as he felt Maurice's hands grab his shoulders and lift him to his feet, taking him out of the rec room as his new acquaintances looked on, inquisitively.

Croc stepped closer to Crane as he lifted himself to his feet and he shook his head. "You make fast friends, Doc..." he told him sarcastically, then sat down at the table again to continue shuffling his deck of cards as he waited out the last fifteen minutes of Recreation Time.

Maurice helped The Joker into his cell and, before he could even shut the door after him, he rushed to his toilet and knelt over it, the lump in his throat desperately trying to crawl its way out of his dry esophagus. He tried coughing it out, spitting into the toilet as he lingered on the very edge of vomiting, but no relief came. He felt that if he could just let out even the tiniest bit of sickness that was lurching in his stomach then he could sleep soundly for the rest of the day. However, the only relief he felt was the coolness of the dingy porcelain bowl as he placed his temple against it as well as the occasional belch that escaped his lips.

The Joker tried to curse, but he could barely let out a whisper as he continued to breathe deeper. He thought about what Dr. Quinzel had said about his withdrawals, how he was supposed to sweat it out of him. It had only been about a week without a fix and he already felt like he was dying. He felt something rush up his throat and, though the burning of the sickness wasn't pleasant, he was more than grateful to stick his face into the bowl as the crest of the feverish wave crashed down upon him.

After a few more waves of sickness, he spit off the taste from his lips and crashed onto his back on the hard floor of his cell. He lazily looked up at the grey ceiling and could have sworn that the cracks in it were swimming towards him, but his eyes fluttered shut and he rested for a moment.

The moment turned into hours and when he awoke he was on his cot, a cold rag on his forehead that was turning warm from the fever in his skin. He moaned as he opened his eyes and the dim light from the hallway past his glass partition hurt his head as he took off the compress. He held the cold cloth in his hands and gazed at it, then, sighing, he placed it on his chest and licked his lips.

He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten sick like that, and though it was a relief to vomit like he did, he didn't want to do it again for a while. However, he had a feeling that the withdrawals were only going to get worse, and if they were then he really didn't know how he was going to handle it. The Joker was pretty easy when it came to handling difficult situations, but when he realized that he would have to handle this sickness while surrounded by shatter-proof glass and doctors watching his every move, the very idea of being in Arkham at that moment made him want to smash in his own head...or anyone else's, for that matter.

The Joker growled deeper as he sneered to himself, but was brought out of his grudge by soft tapping that came from the glass behind him. He slowly turned onto his side and looked through heavy eyelids at Dr. Quinzel, her valise at her side and her black raincoat over her shoulders. He looked past her to the window across the hall and saw the storm outside as the rain poured heavily in the night sky.

Had he really slept for that long?

Harleen peered in at her patient and they gazed at each other for a moment, and then The Joker plopped his head down onto his pillow again. She went to his door and opened the tiny slat that would allow them to talk. "How do you feel, Mr. Joker?"

Her sweet voice was usually welcome in his ears, but at that moment he wanted to block out any and all noises that echoed near him. The Joker sniffed, however, and replied, "Like I've been hit by a train..."

Her soft giggling made him roll his eyes in his painful situation. She sure did do that a lot. On the other hand, it was quite lyrical.

"What are you...still doing here?" he asked in a weary voice.

Harleen cleared her throat. "Just catching up on some filing," she replied, trying to keep her voice as soft as possible as she knew that his head was pounding. She looked down either side of the hallway and didn't see anyone passing through, but she took a deep breath and asked, "Do you need another compress for your head?"

The Joker shook his head. "No...but it could use a refill..."

Harleen knew she that should have had an orderly present, but seeing as how there were none in sight and her patient needed assistance, she bravely opened his cell door and stepped cautiously inside, placing her valise at the door.

He turned his head and saw that she had come in alone and he smirked, "Look at you..."

She stopped and kept her back close to the wall. "What?"

He didn't want to point out just how brave, yet stupid she was being at that moment. It sort of amazed him that she would even venture into his cage without a properly trained handler to keep him at bay, but he looked away from her as he held out his hand that was gripping the now luke-warm rag. "Your coat..." he lied. "Nice..." His eyes felt droopy, but he kept his hand out for her to take his compress.

Harleen carefully walked closer to him and grabbed the cloth with the tips of her fingers, being careful to not stand directly next to his cot. She kept her eyes on him as she walked to his sink and turned on the cold tap. She soaked the rag until it was heavy again with water and wringed out the excess gently, leaving just a bit of water so it could soak up the rest of The Joker's fever.

She stepped toward him and reached out her arm to offer the compress back to him, but noticed that he drifted into another light slumber and his arm was now dangling from the side of the cot. She felt a nervous lump in her throat. She couldn't just leave him without the relief of the cool water on his skin. She had promised to help him, but she also didn't want to get too close for fear of startling him awake and the danger of him grabbing her arm like he did when the wave of side effects had hit him earlier that day.

Knowing that she was risking her neck, Harleen quietly approached him and, just as she was about to place the rag on his forehead, she noticed something about him that she hadn't before...

...despite the jagged scars on his cheeks, his skin was quite flawless. His hair was steadily losing the green dye and she could see his natural, dark curly locks begin to appear, and his bottom lip was full as it was slightly parted from its upper partner as he softly snored.

Harleen suddenly realized that she was staring at him and shook herself out of her reverie. She gently placed the cold rag on his forehead, biting her lip as she readied herself to jump back if he had the urge to grab her. However, he kept his position on his back and only grunted when he felt the icy sting of the rag on his skin, but he did not wake up.

Harleen quickly, but quietly, walked to the cell door, grabbed her valise, and gently shut it, locking it as she glimpsed at him one last time before she turned away. She buttoned her raincoat as she made her way to the entrance that would lead into the parking lot.

It would be from there that she would drive to the front gate where Richard would be waiting in the booth to kiss her good night before she drove back to her apartment.

Back in his cell, The Joker slumbered softly, waking up only momentarily to wonder where the soothing aroma of flowers had gone.


	8. A Question of Formality

A full day passed, and The Joker had spent the entire time in his cell. When he wasn't trying to control his shaking, which had now traveled to his arm and made his neck muscles ache, he sat with his back against his cell wall and watched as doctors made their way, back and forth from their offices and his fellow patients slowly travel to and from the rec room or cafeteria. Two meals had come and gone, but The Joker had just let the trays sit in the corner by the door.

He couldn't eat anything. His throat felt like it had been glued shut. No water traveled passed his lips and he refused to speak to Bobby, his orderly, when he came in to deliver and retrieve his trays. "You got a session today, clown," he had told him. The Joker didn't care; he was comfortable sitting on the floor or on his cot as he stared at Bobby. He had been sitting under the sink when the orderly returned twenty minutes later to tell him that his doctor had been waiting in the interview room. "Let's go, Joker," Bobby ordered. "She isn't gonna wait all day."

The Joker had smirked, the only emotion that crossed his face that day. He could just imagine his little doctor becoming angry at the fact that he didn't want to see her. He tried to envision the look on her face as she sat in that room all alone, probably staring at his mug shot as she waited.

Not that he didn't want to talk to her, but the shaking in his arm was getting unbearable.

"Let's...reschedule..." The Joker growled at him. "I don't feel like talking much today..."

"There won't be no rescheduling, clown," Bobby said, sternly. "Now, get your ass off the floor and let's get you down there..."

The Joker sneered as the orderly stepped closer and, when Bobby stopped directly in front of him, he kicked him in the shin. Bobby stepped back, cursing as his shin throbbed. "Jesus Christ!!"

The Joker smirked, saying, "You're just lucky I didn't kick any harder. You're leg would've been in two..."

Bobby stood up straighter and limped his way out of the cell, pointing out to another orderly what had happened. The Joker saw that Bobby's friend only thought it was amusing, and Bobby gave the patient an angry glance as he walked away.

The Joker's smile faded when a sting traveled through his arm and into his neck. He doubled over, putting his elbows in his stomach as he gently lay on his side. "Son of a bitch..." he cursed quietly to himself. He felt his forehead become hot again and he growled in frustration as he kicked the wall. He tried to steady the pain with deep breaths but the tips of his fingers were throbbing, pulsing with an electric current that raced through his bloodstream.

The current quickened its pace as it traveled into his esophagus and the throbbing was now resting under his Adam's Apple. He panted as he smacked his lips and the throbbing became empty. His throat felt very hollow, as if all the muscles and cords had suddenly dissolved and there was nothing but the pounding vibration where his esophagus should be.

"Oh, shit..." he muttered, and scrambled to his toilet where he once again stuck his head in the bowl. The wave was stronger today, but he managed to keep himself hovering over the toilet even though the dizziness was glazing over his eyes. He cursed between each lapse of sickness until the wave stopped and he sat back and rested his head against the partition in front of his lavatory.

He wanted to get up and drink some water from the sink tap, but his legs were now shaking and his head was spinning. A few short minutes passed and he heard the drawer near his cot open violently, making his head pound from the monstrous echo in his small cell. "Medication time," came the sound of a gruff voice. He slowly looked around his toilet stall and saw a middle aged nurse crouching down toward the drawer in the glass as she placed in his medication. The Joker watched her and winced when she slammed the drawer back into his side of the cell, and the noise almost made him sick again.

He sniffed and resumed his reclining against the stall and stared at the toilet. He then lazily reached forward and pushed down onto the flush mechanism, plugging out the noise by sticking his fingers in his ears. He groaned loudly as he heard his cell door open again, and the clanging echoed around his cell. "Is it...really necessary..." he began. "To slam that fucking door?!" The Joker brought his face around the stall and his angry expression met the eyes of his doctor.

Harleen was taken aback slightly by his sudden outburst, but she wanted to come see him and examine his process. It was important for her to document his behavior during his withdrawals and she knew that she was putting herself at risk by coming into his cell and making a place for her in the chair near the door. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Joker," she told him sincerely. "Bobby does have a heavy hand." There was a pause and then he moved his frustrated glance back behind the stall.

The Joker suddenly snickered. "Heavy hand...too bad his legs don't follow suit..."

Harleen smirked. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing, doll face," he said sarcastically, as he crossed his arms in front of him.

His doctor's lips parted somewhat, as if the pet name, though mocking, had a meaningful undertone. It was too early to tell, however, whether or not The Joker could feel anything that was even close to empathy. However, to maintain her professional position, she corrected him, "Dr. Quinzel, Mr. Joker." She paused and grinned. "Or Doc..."

The Joker smirked and sniffed, "What about _Harleen_?"

The growl of her name suddenly made the room cold and a chill went through her body. She shook it off just as soon as it had come upon her and she asked, "How did you figure that out?"

He smiled. "I have my ways," he lied as he put his hands behind his head.

"I would prefer you not call me that, Mr. Joker."

"But why?" he asked. "Because it's so unusual?"

"The unprofessionalism of it...or the name itself?"

He clicked his tongue against his teeth and licked his bottom lip. "Unprofessionalism...you know what, Doc? You're too tightly wound up...with that white coat and tightly pinned bun in your hair...what difference would it make in our patient/doctor so-called relationship - " He made quotations with his fingers. "If I called you by your first name?"

"It's too familiar for this type of environment..."

"Oh, so it's familiarities you're worried about, huh?" He rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to get really familiar, I would let you call me just plain Joker or Jay...or even Mr. J, since you like to use that title so much." He suddenly turned to face her and smiled. "I could even call you Harley...or is that too familiar?"

"Not really," Harleen retorted. "I've been called that many times; in college, in fact, it was my nickname." She cleared her throat, saying, "But, I'm afraid that in our relationship - " She also made quotation gestures. "That I must remain Dr. Quinzel to Mr. Joker..."

He squinted at her and then retreated again behind his metal partition in front of the toilet. "Have it your way...Doc..."

She grinned and looked toward the drawer that still contained his dosage of baclofen. "You need to take your medication, Mr. Joker," she pointed out, calmly.

"Doesn't work," he scoffed. "Maybe I've been misdiagnosed. Not to worry, though...it was a rookie mistake."

Harleen's brow creased in frustration. Did he really just indirectly call her an amateur?

"The baclofen has nothing to do with your mental state," Harleen replied calmly, though her ears were burning still from his comment. "I told you...it is only to treat the trembling in your hand."

"Then why is my whole body now shaking?" The Joker asked impatiently.

"Well, you've only been taking it for one day. I'd give it another few doses and you should feel it take effect." Harleen took a bottle of water from her valise and slowly rose out of her seat to walk over to the drawer. She quickly glanced at him and saw that he was still turned away from her, and she withdrew his prescription and carefully brought it to him.

The echo of her heels vibrated in The Joker's ears, but they were not as ferociously unnerving as the slamming of the cell door or the uneven flush of his toilet. They were soft, almost like a pitter patter of ghostly feet. The gentle rhythm of them was enough to make him sit up straighter in his position on the floor and, in doing so, her smell wafted into his nostrils.

His doctor smelled like coconut today.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, catching her glance and they shared a quick, somewhat awkward smirk. Harleen handed him the small paper cup that held his dose and then the cold bottle of water. She watched him swallow with slight hesitancy and then carefully take a gulp of water. He handed the bottle back to her, but she said, "Keep it...from the sounds that were coming from your cell as I walked down here, it appears you could use some hydration."

The Joker brought the bottle to his lips again and said, "That's a nice way of saying that I was puking my intestines out..." he muttered lazily. He caught the soft hum of her giggle and glanced at her legs as she walked toward his cot and took a seat. She wore black high heels today and a pair of fishnet tights traveled from inside her shoes and ascended up her legs and under her black skirt. He averted his gaze when he suddenly let a small drop of cold water go down his windpipe and he coughed deeply.

"You okay?" Harleen asked over his sudden fit.

"Yeah..." he choked. "Got a little greedy, I guess..." He tried to cease his coughing as he watched her cross her legs. He slowly shifted on the floor to where he was facing her and he raised an eyebrow. "I've been...mingling...like you suggested..."

Harleen smiled. "I know," she replied, quietly. "I saw you playing cards with Waylon. It's good to make friends in a place like this."

"Do you have friends here, Doc?" he asked suddenly.

She paused and looked at him for a moment, then, clearing her throat she said, "I told you that I would be asking the questions, Mr. Joker." She gave him the reminder in a gentle tone for fear of him rising to his feet and sweeping across the room to her. She also didn't want to let on that she was nervous about being cornered by his line of questioning.

"It's just a simple..." he stopped himself and then took another small sip of water. "Okay...it's your session."

"Actually, it's yours. I just don't want to get too off topic."

"Fine, then," he said sluggishly as he leaned against the partition by his toilet. "Let's start where we left off the other day...how you said I'm no...different from guys like Maroni or Falcone."

"Maybe we should start with a new topic today, seeing as how you've been rather weak lately."

"Weak?" he growled. "I'm not the very best of friends with that word, Doc."

"I only meant health-wise, of course," Harleen explained. "I'm not questioning your manliness." She giggled as she reached into her valise again and pulled out a black book with a purple crayon. "Here's that journal I promised you. Sorry about the crayon, but until you show more improvement, you're not allowed to have pens or pencils."

"Shame," he said, then gulped down the water. He threw the empty bottle to the other side of the cell and Harleen jumped slightly when it hit the glass. "I do a really neat trick with a pencil."

"You'll have to show it to me sometime..."

The Joker gave her a smirk and a sideways glare. She must not have heard about that little incident. He crossed his legs in front of him and muttered, "Nah...I would never show you that...only special people get that privilege."

"And I'm not special enough, I guess..." Harleen smirked.

The Joker sighed and reached out for his new journal. "You're _somethin'_, Doc. I'll give you that."

Harleen handed the book to him and clumsily dropped the purple crayon between them. He went to take it, but his doctor beat him to it, leaning over her knees as she still sat on the cot. The Joker quickly glanced at the precariously unbuttoned part of her white blouse and peered past the scooped neck of her blue tank top.

The quick gaze of the slight curvature of her breasts made him sigh deeply as he looked away, but looked back to receive the purple crayon from her. "Thanks," he whispered. "Can I draw in here, too?"

"I thought you said you weren't an artist..." Harleen smiled.

"I'm an artist in certain things," he replied, flipping through the blank pages of the journal. "But sometimes I'm taken with doodling in the margins. Something I used to do in school..."

"Hmm..." she pondered for a few seconds. "Let's talk about _that _today."

The Joker stopped flipping through the book and closed his eyes as he let out another sigh.

Sly little minx, he thought to himself.

"Wanna know if I was bullied, huh?" he said rather loudly as he looked toward his door where Bobby was standing guard.

"Everyone gets picked on at school," she assured him. "No, I'm more interested in knowing the things you actually liked about your studies."

"The good stuff, huh?"

She smiled. "Yeah. What was your favorite class?"

"Hmm...well, when I was smaller, I guess recess." He paused to laugh. "Our school had the shittiest playground in the entire town. Rusty swing set, slide was falling apart, old tires we climbed on...honestly, you'd think we went to school in a junk yard." Harleen chuckled at the thought of a young Joker climbing over holey rubber tires and jumping off of swings.

"How about high school?" she asked.

He looked at her and noticed her petite hands resting in her lap. She had gotten a manicure done after work, he had decided as her nails were neater and filed perfectly. He also noticed that the very tips of her nails were painted with a deep red. The Joker continued to stare at her fingers, but from the angle of his gaze Harleen thought he was looking toward another part of her body.

She cleared her throat and smirked when he looked up at her again. "I'm up here," she said softly.

The Joker huffed and shook his head. "I was just admiring the paint job." He watched her quickly look at her nails and giggle, but then waited for him to continue. "High school..." he trailed off, scratching his neck. "Not sure I could tell you much..."

"And why's that?"

"I really don't remember."

"Surely there's something. No one forgets their days in high school."

"Hmmm...there is something...but...I won't tell you."

Harleen let out a soft breath. "Why not?"

"Because...I want to be able to ask you some things, too, Doc." He sensed her slight irritation and continued, "You said that you wanted to help me...and that it's good to make friends in a place like this. I can't really feel comfortable telling my past to a total stranger, now can I?"

"Don't consider me a stranger, Mr. Joker," she told him. "I'm your doctor."

"You already know a bit about me," he said. "But I know nothing about you. How about...we exchange pasts? Ya know...let's get to know one another. You can stop me if I get too personal, but...if you don't want to answer my questions, then why should I want to answer yours?"

They sat in silence, Harleen shooting him a somewhat surprised glare and The Joker simply smirking at her wide eyes. He suddenly darted his gaze around the cell and whispered, "I can sit here longer than you can, Doc..."

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. She thought of Dr. Arkham's warning to her, how The Joker would try to open her up and read her every detail like a worn out book, but no matter which resolution she came to in her mind, it seemed to end up with The Joker sitting in silence.

Harleen licked her lips and took out her notepad and pen. "Okay, I'll play your game, Mr. Joker. On one condition..."

"Ooh..." he said, intrigued. "I never took you for the bargaining type."

She continued to give him a serious glare and continued, "Whatever I ask you...you have to answer it. I don't care if you lie or make a joke; just as long as you answer my questions. Only then...will I answer yours."

He narrowed his eyes at her and then suddenly stood to his feet. Harleen jumped up in surprise, not really sure what she would do if he suddenly attacked her, but she took a deep breath when she found that he just stared at her.

His dark eyes shined at her as his greenish-brown hair was heaped toward one side of his head, and with a slow, steady movement he pulled the tangled tresses from his temple and ran his fingers through them to let them fall into a natural part.

The Joker looked into her wide, blue eyes. He blamed the early side effects of his medicine, but the azure hue of them was piercing his gaze and he sniffed as he turned away and grabbed the chair near the door.

He loudly dragged it behind him and Harleen glanced up at Bobby and saw that he was watching for any sudden movements from the patient, but stepped away from the door when The Joker placed the chair in front of her. She cautiously took a side step as he brushed past her and she cautiously sat in the chair that was now in front of his cot.

He smirked as he picked up her valise and dropped his journal and crayon to the floor, and with an air of indifference, he tossed Harleen's valise to the spot next to her feet. He grunted as he sat on his cot, and it was then that they both realized that they were only a couple of feet away from one another.

No table between them and no cuffs on his wrists.

The Joker sighed as he lay on his back and put his hands behind his head. Harleen smirked as she watched him stretch his lanky build across the hard cot. She made herself erase the expression from her countenance as she steadied her notepad on her lap and held her pen firmly in her hand.

She was finally ready to let him speak, and if she had to give in and meet him halfway, Harleen was more than willing to go along with his plan, as she had a plan of her own in mind.

He suddenly licked his lips and closed his eyes, saying in a relaxed voice, "Okay, Doc...let's dance."


	9. Gaping Maw

"Let's start off with the subject of school," Harleen began as she jotted down the date on her yellow pad. "You said that you were prone to doodling in the margins of your notes..."

"Not just my notes," The Joker interrupted, keeping his eyes closed as he lay on his cot. "I would draw on my tests, too. Sometimes, the answers to the test questions would be an illustration."

Harleen grinned as she took her own notes. "Talk about showing your work," she quipped quietly.

He sighed as he grinned. "I only did it when I was bored. There was one class...English..."

"Really?" his doctor said. "I'm rather surprised. You seem like a man who appreciates a good book or two..."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Doc. I do love a good piece of fiction. My mother always thought that I was an advanced reader..."

Harleen couldn't believe that The Joker had mentioned his mother in only his first week and she didn't even have to pry it out of him. However, she didn't take the sudden revelation as a turning point so she let him continue.

The Joker could see that she didn't react with the slightest interest at the mere utterance of his mother. It wasn't a lie; his mother had nurtured his education, but he at least expected a slight nod or even a raised eyebrow from his young doctor. He cleared his throat and continued, "Anyway...my English teacher was Mr. Barlow...or...Boutwell...I forget, I just remember that he was a complete douchebag."

Harleen suddenly laughed and she quickly straightened herself, fixing her stocking as if nothing had just happened.

The Joker smirked and looked at her. "What? You never thought that way about any of your teachers?"

"Sorry, Mr. Joker. It was the sudden...comic relief...that got to me."

He sighed and shook his head. He had already figured out that he could make her laugh with his snarky comments, but, nevertheless, it amused him every time. He continued with his story, "This English teacher...really didn't have a good understanding of his students."

"How old were you?"

"Oh, it was probably...junior high...I'd say about thirteen."

"And what was it that Mr. Barlow didn't get about you and your friends?"

"I never said they were my friends..." The Joker looked away from her and stared at the ceiling as Harleen lifted her head to see his lonely expression. She didn't have to ask exactly where the young Joker had been classified in the social strata of public school.

"My teacher...seemed to have it out for me...boy, was I ever right. My mother didn't believe me; my father could really give a shit..." He paused and looked at her again, but continued when she didn't look back. "'Buck up, you ignorant shit! You do as you're told or I'll break your ass!!'"

The sudden gruffness of his voice made Harleen jump in her seat and she nearly dropped her pen. The Joker looked at her and saw that her blue eyes had gotten wider, and he knew that he finally had her attention. He held a solemn countenance as they gazed at one another, but he suddenly looked back at the ceiling with a shrug, "Great advice, old man...as you can see, pep talks weren't really his specialty..."

"What about your mom?" Harleen bravely asked.

The Joker smirked when he saw his chance to ask his first question. "First of all, Doc...what did you do in junior high?"

Harleen straightened in her chair, but folded her hands in her lap when she remembered their agreement. "Well, uh...I was...in athletics..."

There was a pause and he waved his hand in a circular motion. "You gotta gimme more than that to get my answer, Doc..."

She sighed. "I was a cheerleader...eighth grade..."

"Hmmmm..." he mused. "I knew it was something like that...cheerleader, drill team...twirler...basically the girls that wouldn't so much as look at a kid like me..."

"What about your mom, Mr. Joker?" Harleen repeated her question. "Why didn't she believe that the teacher wasn't giving you a chance?"

The Joker's smirk faded as he was brought back to his own memories and he shrugged. "I never said that he wasn't giving me a chance. He did...but, there was a time when the school year was almost over...he...gave me my first 'F.'"

Harleen nodded. "You were a straight-A student?"

"Of course. I liked school. It wasn't home..."

"Why did Mr. Barlow give you an 'F'?" she asked.

He rubbed his tired eyes. "I still don't know why to this day, to be honest...it was a paper I had written..."

"What was the topic?"

"Chaos..." he said simply.

Harleen looked up from her notes and let her pen slowly bleed a blue spot onto her Steno pad. They were quiet for a moment and The Joker sighed, saying, "We were studying Greek mythology...and, according to those crazy Greeks, before...the world began...all was chaos...

"All of my 'friends,' as you called them, Doc, had written their papers on Zeus or Poseidon or Venus and there were at least three girls who wrote theirs on Cupid...made me wanna wretch..." He paused to stretch and he smiled. "When I went up to the front of the class, though, I was ready. I had always liked pubic speaking..."

"I gathered..." Harleen interjected, biting her lip to keep from smiling again.

His soft chuckle was enough to bring it to her face.

"I thought it was the best paper I had ever written...still think so, too...I could tell my audience was riveted." He cleared his throat and quoted, "'Chaos was a yawning nothingness...and out of Chaos...there emerged...Earth.'" He paused as he scratched his chest, deep in thought. "Made me wonder...just where Chaos itself came from...but the very thought was enough to distort one's mind..."

"I guess that's why it's called Chaos..." Harleen said quietly. "It _is_ nothing because it comes from nothing...it had no enemies because it created everything...Earth...the Abyss...even Love...that was the first thing Chaos created...according to those crazy Greeks."

The Joker slowly turned to see that she was staring at her notepad and lightly tapping her pen onto the paper. He continued to stare at her until she raised her eyes to meet his and she shrugged. "See? I told you that I studied..." she said with a playful gloating tone. He showed no emotion as she rubbed her neck and continued to write, asking, "So...what happened next?"

He looked away, saying, "There was no applause...as I had expected, but just a disappointed look from my teacher. The next week, he handed back the papers, and I saw a big, red 'F'..." He sighed as he frowned.

"Do you still hate him for that?" Harleen asked him.

"Did you have a favorite subject, Doc? Or was cheering your life?"

She sighed and smiled as she shook her head. "I liked art class. My favorite hobby was sewing. I felt that I was ahead of all the other students because my grandmother had already taught me the basics."

He smiled as he answered her lingering question, "I never said I hated him, Doc, but...I don't know why he gave it to me. I guess he was...nervous about my knowledge of the subject...but shouldn't _that_ have been worthy of a high grade? I would've taken a 'B,' for Christ's sake..."

"You still resent him, then?"

He sighed and groaned in his throat. "If I have any resentful feelings about him, it would be because of the look on my mother's face when I showed her my grade..." He stopped and Harleen noticed that he had gulped deeply and put his arm over his eyes. "She was...not at all happy...she was..."

"Disappointed?"

"No...scared..."

Harleen stopped writing and unconsciously leaned forward in eagerness for him to continue. "Why was she scared?"

"Did you go to a private school?"

"What? Mr. Joker...why was your mother scared?"

"Answer my question!" he growled loudly, keeping his arm over his eyes as she leaned back in her chair again.

Harleen took a deep breath. "Yes..."

"Why?"

"My parents...they didn't want me in public school...they thought a private school would be more suitable for my education and..."

"In other words, you could afford it..."

"Yes...my parents could afford it...what's your point?" She was becoming impatient and knew exactly what he was implying.

"My mom was scared," he continued, despite Harleen's irritated tone from his questioning. "Because she knew what my old man would do...but she couldn't...hide from him...even if it meant to keep me from him..."

"What did he do?"

The Joker brought his arm away from his face and neatly folded his fingers onto his stomach. "He broke my ass, of course...just like he said he would..."

Harleen slowly wrote onto her yellow pad as she stated, "He spanked you..."

The Joker huffed as he rolled his eyes. "Spanked..." he repeated in an almost offended whisper. "You ever been hit in the back with a belt buckle?"

Harleen's lips parted in surprise, and she suddenly found that she couldn't look at him. His question was burning into her ears and repeating itself in an almost mocking tone. She should have guessed that he was beaten as a child, so why would she assume he had gotten something as simple as corporal punishment? She felt a slight flush of embarrassment color her cheeks as she clicked her pen and began to pack her valise.

The Joker noticed that she was moving, but he didn't turn to her. Instead, he let her put away her effects and she said, in a gentle voice that was slowly lulling him into a weary haze, "We can stop here. Your meds...are probably kicking in by now...I'll, uh...I'll have Bobby bring you some dinner, a light dinner..."

He turned onto his cot and faced the concrete wall and he stared at it as he listened to the soft clicking of her heels as they stepped away. She left the chair by the cot and, as Bobby opened the cell door for her, Harleen stopped, saying, "Please try to eat tonight..." The echo of the closing door pounded in his head, but he did not move.

Only a brief sigh escaped him as he heard portions of his sweet doctor's voice talking to the orderly. "Tray...small sandwich...lots of ice water..."

Harleen gripped her valise tightly as she trotted to the elevator and as the doors closed after her, she let the small tears escape onto her cheeks. She didn't really know why she was crying; maybe it was from her brief embarrassment or even the image of an awkward boy of thirteen, who, after having been given perhaps the biggest disappointment at that time in his life, had to be crushed further by having his father beat the failure even deeper into him.

She leaned against the wall of the elevator and wiped away the tears as the doors opened again. She kept her head down as she walked past her co-workers, and when she shut her office door behind her, she sat hard onto her sofa and wept into her hands.

Later that night, The Joker was sitting on the floor of his cell, looking out of his double-pane glass as he lazily munched on a turkey sandwich that was brought to him. He hadn't been very hungry, but his doctor had asked him, rather politely, to try his best to take in a bit of dinner.

He felt that since she had given him what he wanted through their exchange of questions that he could at least show a bit of cooperation her way. After all, it had started with him agreeing to take medication, and when the side effects began to take place, it had earned him a session that was only a step closer to what he wanted: a couch.

Not only that, but Dr. Quinzel was beginning to progress the way he wanted her to, and that was by _her_ cooperation. He could only wonder just how much she would cooperate when he would finally be allowed out of his dank cell and into the coziness that he imagined was her office.

He threw his sandwich onto the tray and reached under his cot for his new journal and purple crayon. When he opened to the first blank page, he simply placed the tip of the crayon in the middle of the sheet and began to draw a big mess of deeply hued scribble. The mass of purple was an array of lines and circles and when he had finished, he licked his lips as he gave his masterpiece a name: "Chaos."

"Let's see what comes from that..." he whispered as he shut the book and placed it under his mattress.


	10. It's All About Respect

The Joker sat in the cafeteria with a tray that had now grown cold in front of him. He listlessly had allowed Bobby to take him in to breakfast, as was their usual routine now, but when his orderly had set his food onto the table, The Joker's throat suddenly tightened and he just stared at the mushy eggs in front of him.

Although he had felt confident from his talk with Dr. Quinzel the day before and had seen that she was beginning to comply with him, he woke up with an air that he hadn't felt in quite a long time: melancholy. It wasn't as strong as he used to feel as a child when he would walk home from school knowing that his mother was feeling the same as she prepared dinner, and he would sit at his desk in his bedroom and try to concentrate on his homework as the clock ticked by slowly.

And just as precise as his bedroom clock, so was the front door slamming shut and his father's gruff voice reverberating from downstairs and through the hallway. It was always the same complaint: "Boss's ridin' my ass...no good son-of-a-bitch...can't he see I'm just tryin' to be a provider, God dammit?"

The memory of his father's slurred speech shook The Joker out of his trance and awakened him to the present scene that was happening in front of him. About two tables down, Crane and another patient seemed to be a having a very heated debate. Although he couldn't make out their words, The Joker could see very clearly that Crane was about to lose...not just the argument, but his temper.

He sat up straighter and pushed his cold tray aside, placing his chin in his hand as he leaned onto the tabletop. A smirk pushed its way into one of the scarred corners of his mouth as he saw Crane suddenly raise his tall stature from his seat and bring down what looked like a fork onto the spot in front of him. A shriek echoed throughout the cafeteria and the rest of the chattering had died down as two orderlies wrestled with him as another brought in a straight jacket.

"You fools!!" Crane shouted maniacally as his arms were thrust into his new attire. "Can't you see what they're trying to do?! We're not the crazy ones here!! You'll discover that soon enough, you drooling sacks!!"

The Joker snickered as Crane was finally led out of the doors, but his shouts could still be heard. The atmosphere was silent until everyone turned their heads to see the lonely patient that was sitting in the far corner, his snickers growing louder and then his greenish hair falling away from his temples as he tilted his head back into a scarred cackle.

Bobby's spine got the familiar tingling sense that it had only been getting since The Joker had made a home at Arkham, and he unwillingly obeyed the nudge his fellow warder was giving him. He looked around at the sea of uncomfortable faces staring at his patient and Bobby took a difficult first step over to him. He cleared his throat when he reached The Joker, whose head was now hiding itself in his hands as his laughter slowly died down to slightly audible giggles. "You finished, clown?" he asked quietly.

The clown looked up at his orderly, his laughter suddenly ceasing and a soft grin on his face. He quickly looked at his tray and then back at Bobby as he brought his wrists behind his back. He welcomed the cold sting of the handcuffs as they snapped on, and he allowed Bobby to take him back to his cell, even though his stomach was just realizing that it was still empty.

Harleen was half an hour late getting into work and she casually threw her valise onto her sofa as she grabbed her white coat from her desk chair. She quickly draped it over herself as she sat behind her desk and booted up her computer.

She sighed as she adjusted her glasses. They had another argument that morning. Richard had stayed the night and, when Harleen woke up, he had his hands up her tank top and was kissing her neck. Although she enjoyed the feeling of his lips on her skin, she wasn't in the mood to tolerate his advances. Harleen had trouble sleeping because The Joker's story had gotten to her, and she was still kicking herself at the innocent assumption she had made about his childhood.

She shrugged off Richard, but his grip grew tighter around her breasts. "Richard...come on..." she moaned. "I gotta go to work..."

"So do I..." he growled as he bit her hard.

"Ow! Stop it!" She slapped his arm and he finally let go of her.

He just glared at her as they lay in the light of the rising sunbeams as they threw themselves through her blinds. He finally sniffed and sat up, saying, "What the hell is your problem, Quinzel?"

Harleen rolled her eyes. Whenever he got angry with her, he would always call her by her last name, something that truly annoyed her. "What's _your_ problem?" she asked back at him. "I just told you to stop and you grabbed me like some kind of animal!"

Richard chuckled in exasperation. "If we could only have sex, then I _would_ show you how much of an animal I can be..."

She sneered and huffed as she jumped out of bed and into the bathroom. "You're such a pig, Richard."

"Better than being a frigid broad!" was the last thing Harleen heard as she slammed the bathroom door behind her.

She sighed deeply as she printed her schedule for that day. It was Friday and she wouldn't have another session with The Joker until the following Monday. She was hoping that she could see him and try to encourage him to become more involved in the rec room. The head nurse had told her that he never wanted to participate in the group therapy, even though his new friend, Croc, would join in, and he would just stare out of the window or lie on the sofa.

Harleen grinned as she tried to imagine her patient trying to abide with having to listen to everyone else's dilemmas. She knew that he would probably just laugh at them or make snide comments; however, she knew that he would have to be involved if he was going to survive the weekend without a session.

Not that he would notice, she thought to herself, and then prepared for her first session with a young woman who felt compelled to cut her legs when she had lustful thoughts.

"Be lucky you even have those thoughts, honey," Harleen bitterly said to her computer screen.

The Joker paced in front of his glass partition as he watched the commotion of a Friday work-day commence. It amused him how these people around him continuously threw around the exclamation at how fast the week had gone by and how they couldn't wait for the weekend.

He snorted at this notion; this was only his first week in Arkham and it felt as if time slowed down and his usual weekends used to consist of small night jobs in The Narrows and then stopping off at a strip club of a Family friend's with his men and having a few drinks.

He didn't care much for the women that danced for him. Sure, they were beauties...well, some of them. However, he knew that if he were to comply with an invitation to their room in the back of the club that it would mean he would have to fix their excitement with a blade and have trouble with the owner. Besides, he couldn't break the ties he had with some of these Families. They had been too monetarily advantageous for him.

The Joker saw Dr. Arkham coming his way with Dr. Leland. He could only hear their muffled voices over the chatting of the other nurses and employees. However, he forced himself to listen when he heard his doctor's name mentioned.

"Dr. Arkham," Dr. Leland began as they stopped in front of The Joker's cell. "I'm concerned about your placing The Joker in Harleen's care. I think she's too young to handle such a violent case."

"I don't recall asking your opinion of that, Joan, " Dr. Arkham said. "Remember, she was responsible for the rehabilitation of Waylon Jones and I reassigned him when I found that she had...tamed him...so to speak..."

"I agree that her methods have helped her patients," she said. "But...this is The Joker. I really don't think that her young mind can -- "

Dr. Arkham held up his hand. "Please, Joan. I don't want to hear another word about this. Dr. Quinzel has been doing just fine as of late."

"She knows that I've been watching her, Doctor, " Leland admitted. "I told her it was because of her own safety."

Dr. Arkham sighed. "Well, you need to keep watching her, Joan. I think she may be key in the case against her patient." He paused to chuckle. "I didn't just hire her for her looks, you know."

Dr. Leland smiled. "I know...can you believe the shoes that she wears? Sometimes I think I'm walking into a club than a hospital..."

Her voice trailed off as they walked away, leaving The Joker glaring at their backs as he breathed against the glass.

He could usually tell when he was being made a fool of, but he hadn't felt that way around his doctor, and that led him to believe that her boss wasn't telling his youngest employee all that Arkham Asylum was doing with his case. The Joker sneered as he wondered how much they had on him, seeing as how when he was temporarily locked away at County that they couldn't even trace the shirt off his back.

And what was even stranger was the very thought of Dr. Quinzel being played by her boss; it made The Joker's pulse race.

His stomach suddenly growled and he sighed as he sat on his cot, lazily scratching his knees through his orange jumpsuit. He lifted the corner of his mattress and took out his black journal and purple crayon, and after settling himself onto his stomach, he turned to the second page past his scribbled artwork and stared at it.

He had never kept a journal before, but he knew that he had to conform to his doctor's methods in order to get just a bit closer to her office and to a couch. He concluded that it wasn't so much the couch than just being in a place that wasn't guarded by mammoths in white ready to pounce on him if he so much as raised his voice.

"Dammit," he sighed as he rubbed his left scar. He lightly tapped the crayon onto the paper and closed his eyes. He hadn't slept well the previous night as he kept thinking of his doctor's reaction to his story about his mother's fear. It irritated him that she didn't say anything about what he had revealed to her, but he also knew that she wasn't expecting it.

How could she not expect it? He was practically a shrink's dream! A fucked-up child with an abusive father and who grew up to be the ultimate anarchist...he was everything her textbooks quizzed her about, and yet she was still shocked that his youth consisted of disappointments and cruelty.

His own story had given him a disturbing dream last night. The Joker wasn't one to have nightmares, but he noticed that small excerpts of violence and sadness began to creep into his mind as he dozed off in the night. He blamed it on his new meds as well as the fact that he didn't have such an active lifestyle in Arkham as he had on the streets.

He sniffed as he finally felt the need to write and although his purple crayon was already smudging onto his hand and the words poured from a bulky tip, he continued to describe what was in his mind after his session with his doctor.

Meanwhile, Harleen was finishing up her first session of the day, escorting her patient out of her office and to the elevator. "Rita," she began. "Please try to remember that these thoughts are perfectly natural, especially after the life you led."

Rita wiped away what was left on her tear-stained cheeks and nodded. "Thanks, Dr. Quinzel. I really...haha...I really don't know where I'd be without you here. I'm just glad that there's another woman here who truly understands me."

Harleen smiled. "I told you: I'm here to help, I'm glad to help. Now, please try to get some sleep. I'm afraid that the searches in your bedroom will still have to be conducted after your episode last week." Rita sighed and Harleen put her hand on her shoulder. "You can do this, honey..." she comforted her.

Her patient smirked and was led by a nurse back downstairs to the rec room. Harleen quietly shut her office door and slowly walked to the elevator to go down to the employee lounge for lunch. On the way down, the car stopped on the third floor and two muscular orderlies, each putting on a smirk when they saw Harleen standing alone, came through the doors with a restrained Jonathan Crane in tow.

Harleen knew they were going down to the secure wing so she pressed the button for the very bottom floor as one of the orderlies stared at her. She folded her arms uncomfortably, knowing well enough that he was looking down her blouse.

"Stop leering at her, you filthy peon..." muttered a subdued Crane, making the other orderly give him a blow to the back of the head.

Harleen's jaw dropped. "Excuse me, sir, but he is a patient here...not a punching bag!"

The large man snickered. "Relax, Doc. He likes it." He hit him again, knocking Crane's glasses and making them shift on his long nose.

"What's your name, mister?" Harleen queried, turning to face them.

The other orderly was a bit surprised at her bold stance and he tapped his partner on the arm. "Come on, dude," he said. "Stop acting like a jack-ass..."

"Like this chick is gonna do anything..." his friend told him, as if Harleen were no longer standing there.

Crane tried to adjust his glasses by cautiously shaking his head, but to no avail. Instead, he was pushed through the now open elevator doors and was fuming at how these men had treated Dr. Quinzel. However, his anger began to subside and he smirked as he heard the young doctor's high heels click after them.

"I asked you what your name was, sir," Harleen simply stated. "You deserve to be written up for this kind of behavior. Maybe _you_ should be the one in the straight jacket!"

The nurses at the station as well as a few interns stopped their work and stared at the rising commotion. The other patients stood close to their glass partitions, and The Joker suddenly found an excuse to ease the cramp that his writing was giving his arm. He placed his hands gingerly on the glass of his cell as he gave the scene in front of him a concentrated glare.

The orderly had turned and faced the petite figure in front of him. "Are you actually comparing me to these crazies, lady?"

Harleen took a deep breath. "_Doctor_ Quinzel to you, sir. And I don't care what kinds of things any of these patients have done. They are here to get well and rehabilitate and it certainly doesn't help when bullies like you slap them around like that!"

The Joker grinned as he noticed how slightly shrill she was becoming as well as how tenacious she was about defending the poor residents of Arkham Asylum.

This girl has some fire in her, he thought.

The orderly bent down to her and poked her hard in the shoulder, saying, "Leave the rehab to _real_ doctors, Cutie Pie."

The only answer he received was a sharp slap in the face and it echoed in the hallway of the secure ward. The Joker belted an instant guffaw, leaning against the glass as he tried to stifle his chuckling.

One of the nurses giggled while another gasped, but Harleen stood her ground and finally spied his nametag. "_Doctor_ Quinzel...Larry..."

The struck orderly looked dumbfounded, but Harleen stepped past him and helped Crane with his glasses. "Sorry about that, Dr. Crane," she cooed as she straightened his frames. "You know how these orderlies can be sometimes..."

Crane smirked at her and sighed. She was the only employee in the asylum who still called him by his former title. "Thank you...Dr. Quinzel."

Harleen grinned back as he was led away by his flustered orderlies. She looked at the people staring and just straightened her white coat as she headed to the elevators to travel to the employee lounge.

A loud knocking sounded close by and she turned her head to see The Joker standing by his door. She couldn't stop the smile from budding onto her face as she walked to his cell and he returned it with a smirk of his own as he opened the slat in the door.

"You okay there, Slugger?" he asked, playfully.

Harleen giggled as she crossed her arms. "I'm fine...not my fault if an orderly wets his pants."

The Joker snickered and shook his head. "Well...at least smugness looks cute on you...then it would just be annoying."

Harleen held her breath. This was the second time he had mentioned anything positive about her looks and, although she had heard it many times over her young years, the compliments coming from her new patient gave her a different sensation. She cleared her throat and said, "I actually hoped that we could talk a little. You know, we won't be having another session until Monday..."

"Mm hm," he mumbled as he also crossed his arms and put his back to the wall.

"Well, I wondered if you could do me a favor, Mr. Joker..."

He raised an eyebrow suspiciously and licked the corners of his mouth. "I promise I'll be a good boy until Mama gets home," he said childishly.

Harleen giggled. "Not just that, young man," she replied, not seeing the grin on his face as she played along with him. "I would like for you to give the group therapy a try this weekend." He rolled his eyes as he groaned, but his doctor was adamant. "Please, Mr. Joker. Just sit through one session tomorrow. If you don't like it, then you don't have to go anymore. I think it would help with your progress."

He sighed as he licked his bottom lip. "Those guys are so dull...all they ever wanna talk about is how they feel when they did this, or why they feel they need to do that...honestly, I think I'd give those people nightmares if I ever went into detail about how I feel when I do anything."

His doctor nodded in agreement, saying, "Maybe, but...just do this for me...okay?"

The Joker turned his head and looked into her blue eyes, which shined with hope through her square frames. He suddenly lifted himself off the wall and walked over to his cot and picked up his journal. He kept his eyes on her as he walked back to the door and dropped the journal into the drawer, clumsily pushing it out to the other side of the glass with his foot.

Harleen didn't pick it up, but just looked back at her patient. "Mr. Joker...I told you that you didn't have to turn it in to me. It's for you to keep..."

He merely shrugged. "I'm not much of a writer, Doc. I doubt any kind of epiphany will hit while you're outta the building. I've written my first entry...I want you to read it..." When he noticed the confused expression on her face, he grinned and said, "It'll give us something to talk about on Monday."

Harleen carefully picked up the journal and shut the drawer inside the glass. "But...Mr. Joker..."

"I'm doing you a favor," he reminded her. "Now do me one...take it. Just give it back at our next session."

"If I do," she told him. "You have to promise me that you'll go to one group therapy session."

"I told you I would..."

They stared at one another, each trying to read the other's countenance. "Okay," Harleen sighed. "I'll see you Monday."

He nodded and was about to close the slat on his door when his doctor intervened, "Oh! And please...just because I won't be here doesn't mean you can skimp on your medication."

He cocked his head, asking, "Are you requesting another favor...Doc?"

Harleen shrugged. "Sure. Do me that favor, too, please."

"Then you need to do me another..."

"What?" Harleen stared blankly at him. "Mr. Joker, we can't just be bartering all day."

"Who said we had to barter?" her patient asked.

She sighed and rubbed her neck as she hugged the journal to her chest in her other arm. "Okay...what other favor do I need to do for you?"

He stepped closer to the slat in the door and lowered his eyes to it, making her bend down in a slight crouch. "I want...for the rest of our sessions...to be in your office..."

Harleen suddenly straightened and shook her head. "I don't think that's wise, Mr. Joker."

"Why not?" he asked, straightening himself likewise. "I've been well-behaved, haven't I? Come on; if Killer Croc got to be on your couch, then what's wrong with me?"

She bit her lip. He did have a point. Waylon was far bigger than The Joker, but Dr. Arkham allowed for her to be alone with him after a few sessions with an orderly standing outside her door. She really couldn't see the harm in it, but she still felt anxious about being alone with The Joker.

It wasn't the fear, she decided, but the audacity of her tolerance of being alone with him. It would certainly show Dr. Arkham that she was willing to take a big risk like that.

"Okay, Mr. Joker," she finally agreed. "On Monday, I'll have Bobby bring you to my office...and there our sessions will remain."

He watched her shuffle away with his journal still grasped closely to her chest, and the sound of her high heels and the grating sound of the slat in the door were what accompanied the satisfied smile that crept onto his scarred face.


	11. Mental Unrest

Harleen sat on her sofa later that night, the television glowing an old black and white movie into her dimly lit living room as her papers lay scattered at her feet. She would every now and then lift her eyes to the screen and become entranced by the performance of the actors that she had seen so many times, and then set her eyes on the file in her lap. She must have read the police notes on The Joker several times before she once again studied Dr. Arkham's initial notes from her patient's first night in the asylum.

She couldn't quite understand what Dr. Arkham had meant when he told her that their investigation reached further back than when he was first locked in County. It seemed that Commissioner Gordon didn't have a clue as to where to begin or even where to end, as if the final revelation of The Joker's true identity could help explain why he is the way he is, but Harleen really couldn't see what it would matter if they figured it out.

All in all, it would be a waste. Did they actually think that finding his true identity would help find a better way to cure him?

Harleen's mind suddenly clicked. Maybe their notion, if that was indeed their intended approach, was a plausible one. Perhaps if one delved deep enough into his past, then they might be able to learn exactly how a man could be so far gone mentally...

...or was he?

She sighed as she brought her mug of hot, peppermint tea to her lips. The liquid had grown cooler, but she took small gulps as she lazily placed The Joker's file onto the sofa. Richard hadn't called; she didn't expect him to because of their fight that morning. They had fought before, but she felt that she made it clear that him calling her "frigid" had earned him a night off from her apartment.

She didn't quite know what was keeping her from having sex with him. She was very attracted to him, but she had already analyzed that it wasn't her own insecurities that kept them from making love. It also wasn't the fact they were co-workers, although she was a doctor and he was a security guard that worked totally different hours from hers. They were only able to get together on his nights off and he worked on the weekends. Now that she thought about it, Harleen realized that they never actually went on a date.

He had driven her home one night from work when her car wouldn't start and he just happened to stay over to take her to pick up her car at the shop the next morning. Nothing had happened between them except some small talk which later led to kissing and heavy petting. She invited him to stay over since it was very late at night when they both realized that she had to be at work in five hours.

Harleen smirked and shook her head. Why does she call Richard a boyfriend? He was hardly there for her after a long day at work, and when he was over, he was always pawing at her.

She was beginning to wonder how he would be if they finally had sex, and she wasn't sure of him anymore.

She put down her tea and turned off the television as she sat up to stretch her tired body. After she picked up the pieces of The Joker's file and carefully placed them back into his folder, she went over to her valise that was sitting in an armchair and stuffed the file inside, bumping the chair in the process.

She shuffled backward to avoid the valise from dropping onto her bare toes and cursed under her breath. Harleen sighed as she knelt down to pick up her papers, but paused when she spied The Joker's black journal that had fallen from her case.

Her jaw went slack. She had completely forgotten about it and had made a mental note on the drive home that she was going to read it in the morning.

However, when the ominous words of Dr. Arkham once again reeled in her brain and the thought of Gordon digging into every possibility at unmasking The Joker once and for all, Harleen decided that taking the book to bed wouldn't hinder her chances at helping both the authorities as well as her patient.

She quickly packed away the file papers back into her valise and grabbed the journal, making sure that her door was locked before she turned off the living room light and trotted off into her bedroom.

The Joker was dozing into a light sleep when he was suddenly startled by the clang of the door at the end of the ward. He lifted and propped himself up with his arms as he gazed past his glass and into the dark hallway. He could hear muffled voices coming closer to his cell and quickly lay on his cot again and pretended to be asleep.

The voices stopped in front of his cell and he could feel their eyes on him. He couldn't make out how many there were because he tried to open his eyes into a very discreet squint. He saw one big silhouette, but he knew that he heard three voices. He was beginning to grow impatient as they lingered in front of him, but it ceased when he once again heard his doctor's name.

"You going to Harleen's tonight, Richard?" Andrew asked his fellow guard.

Richard huffed. "Nah, Drew. We had a fight this morning. I tell ya, we've only been dating a few months and she still won't let me have it."

Andrew laughed. "You kiddin' me, man? You haven't hit home base yet?"

"I don't get it...she's being cold. She said she isn't sure she wants to now..."

"Drop her flat, Richie," another voice chimed in.

Richard shook his head. "I dunno, Larry. She's a great girl. Smart, funny, sexy as hell...I just don't know what I'm doing wrong. Harleen just doesn't seem all that interested anymore..."

Andrew looked around. "Well, maybe you should stoke the fires, Rich. Go get her a big-ass bouquet, or something. Girls love that kinda stuff..."

"Maybe..." Richard sighed. "Well, come on, guys. We gotta go to the med ward and make sure everything's Kosher."

Their chatting traveled down the hallway until the sound of the other door slammed shut and there was once again a still silence.

The Joker opened his eyes and realized that he had been holding his breath at the sound of his doctor's name. He slowly let it out as the tops of his ears began to burn.

Andrew he remembered very well from his first night at Arkham, and Larry was the flabbergasted orderly that had been reprimanded by Dr. Quinzel after his mistreatment of Crane. This Richard guy, however, was new and he was trying to remember if he had ever seen his face. He thought for a moment and then decided that he was too tired to try to jog his memory.

He was sure of one thing about this new security guard: he didn't like him one bit.

Harleen settled herself under the thin sheet of her queen-sized bed and turned on her clock radio. The student-run public radio station from Gotham University was playing late night classical music, something she had always listened to when she would study in her dorm room. She kept her bedside table lamp on as she pulled the covers over her knees and propped her back against the headboard, biting her lip as she turned her head and stared reluctantly at The Joker's journal that sat beside her on the bed.

It wasn't that she was just nervous about what she might find in its contents but that she wasn't sure if reading his innermost thoughts was something for which she was prepared. He seemed to be a very complex and tortured human being and Harleen began to doubt her wits as she reached for the book and turned to the front page to find his purple, scribbled artwork. She snickered as she read the title "Chaos" underneath it, remembering his story about his student essay.

She turned the page to find that, on the other side of his masterpiece, was a quick sketch of a pair of glasses. Harleen creased her brow in confusion. Why would he draw this? She shrugged when she remembered him telling her that he was prone to idle doodling, and glanced to a page that was scrawled with asymmetrical purple handwriting. Harleen had to hold the journal closer to her face to make out The Joker's busy text, but she was accustomed to slack writing when she had been a teaching assistant while she was getting her Master's. Back then, she felt as if she were grading papers of first graders. If she could read those sloppy letters, she should be able to make out The Joker's.

"_This is my first attempt at trying to describe anything in my subconscious into words, so bear with me, Doc_," the scribbles began. Harleen smirked as she brought her knees to her chest.

"_After our talk about my mom and everything, I couldn't rest. For some reason, my mind kept reeling and all night I kept waking up wondering where I was and upon remembering I got angry. Don't ask why. I've been known to get mad at the drop of a hat, but this was a different kind of anger. I wanted to smash in my head, but I didn't want to make a mess of my mirror. Seven years bad luck, you know, Doc? Anyway, I wasn't really sure of what to write in this thing, so I guess I'll start with a dream I had before I woke up for the fourth and final time..."_

Harleen sat up a bit straighter against the headboard as she gripped the book.

"_I'm outside my old house. I think I'm in my back yard, I really can't remember, but I do know that I was playing in the mud. I looked to be about 5 or 6, doing what every little boy does: getting filthy making mud pies and torturing earthworms. Ah, the apple of Mom's eye, Doc..." _Harleen grinned. _"I suddenly decide to go into the house and my mom isn't too happy that I'm leaving muddy footprints on her just mopped floor (she mopped a lot). Ha ha! But she's happy to clean me up and I run upstairs to my room to wash up for dinner. That's when I hear it...stomping. It isn't the sound of my tiny feet in my soaked socks, but it follows me up the stairs and it keeps following me as I'm changing into my pajamas._

"_Then the stomping is suddenly joined by shouting. Shouting so loud that it echoes in my bedroom and hurts my ears. I try to cover them but it's like the screaming is trapped inside the palms of my hands and my eardrums are pounding. I try to run but it's like my feet are in iron shoes. That's when I feel a cold hand on the back of my neck and it picks me up off my feet..."_

Harleen leaned forward as she clutched the journal, her legs now as stiff as a board on her mattress and her breath sitting still in her throat. "_I'm kicking at the person who picked me up, but I'm not touching anything. Then I feel a sharp sting across my backside, like someone's hitting me with a strap, and it keeps coming, faster and faster until I'm crying. I can feel the welts begin to grow into my skin until my squirming makes him drop me. I'm crying into the shag carpet of my bedroom and when I look to see who picked me up, all I see is a pair of steel toed boots. Before I can take a breath, the tip of one of the boots rears back and heads toward my chest...but as soon as the force of the foot knocks the breath out of me, I wake up and I'm alone in my cell._

_"I still can't decide if it was a dream...or just some repressed memory. Ha! I'm not gonna start on that textbook stuff, though. You're the one with all the degrees. When I woke up, I felt--"_

Harleen's breath finally escaped past her lips and she blinked her eyes rapidly, as though that would convince her that there was more to the entry, but The Joker had apparently stopped writing and she decided that's when he gave the journal to her after her altercation with the orderly.

"Felt?" she asked the journal. "Felt what? Why did he...?" She finally gave up and plopped onto her back, her head bouncing on the pillow. She sighed and chuckled lightly to herself at the suspense of his entry, suddenly accusing him of stopping on purpose. "That's something he'd do, I bet," she told herself out loud.

She skimmed through the entry and once again read the instant of abuse that he described. She closed her eyes and could only deduce that it was indeed an old memory that all of a sudden budded in his mind after talking about his mother and father the day before in his cell. Something awoke it and now it was haunting him. Harleen could only imagine the pain of welts across the thin skin of a five-year-old and the horror of a boot ramming itself into his small chest. She could see him kicking his legs wildly in a desperate attempt at escape, knowing full well of the punishment he was going to be receiving by the strong, unsympathetic hand that dangled him by the neck as the strap bore into his backside.

Harleen's cell phone startled her and when she opened her eyes, she quickly wiped away the moisture that was building in them as she went to pick up the call. She read the Caller ID; it was Richard. She sighed in annoyance and ignored the call, sending it to Voicemail. "Fuck off," she muttered as she set both the phone and The Joker's journal on her bedside table.

She found, however, that sleep was reluctant in coming over her as she continued to replay her patient's dream in her own mind.

The Joker was awakened the next day by Sly forcing his door open and stepping inside. "Rise and shine, clown," he bellowed. He steadied a breakfast tray in his hands as The Joker raised himself off his cot and stretched his lanky body.

"Talk about a wake-up call," he quipped.

Sly smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, man. You gotta eat up so we can go." He set the tray on the chair close to the cot and The Joker raised an eyebrow at his orderly. "I'll be back in thirty."

"Where the hell am I going, Sly-boy?" the patient called after him. "Nobody's here that I can talk to..."

Sly turned and smirked at him as he began to close the door. "Your doc set you up with group therapy today, clown. So, put on your best face...oh, wait a minute..." Sly laughed loudly at his tasteless, yet terrible, joke and slammed the door behind him.

The Joker groaned as he grabbed a piece of rigid bacon and bit down hard, making him moan in pain as the sharp bits of food reminded him of his two missing teeth by cutting into his gums. He jumped up and went over to his sink and spit out the fragments of bacon and blood, and after rinsing his mouth, he sighed as he lifted his eyes to the mirror, mentally kicking himself for forgetting his promise of group participation to Dr. Quinzel.

Sometimes he really hated being a man of his word...


	12. Baggage

**A quick warning: There is an incident of underage sexual content. You are about to see what I think a Nolanverse Jervis Tetch would be like. Thanks and please...don't blame me if you're offended. You've been warned.**

Richard sighed as he slid his time-card into the machine. The green light on the box lit up as it chimed, reminding him that he was now at work and on the clock, and that Harleen never picked up the phone last night.

He knew he had been stupid calling her 'frigid,' but what was a guy supposed to do when a woman he's been dating for months hasn't let him get closer to her? He had shrugged to himself as he lay in his bed last night after trying to call her for the third time, thinking he was lucky to even sleep in the same bed as she did, even if it meant that it would be a very frustrated sleep.

Andrew suddenly stood beside him and swiped his card, making the green light come on. "You okay, Rich?" he asked.

Richard shook his head. "She didn't answer my calls, Drew. She must be really pissed..."

Andrew snickered. "Big deal...she'll get over it soon enough. She may be a tight-assed doctor here, but I'm pretty sure that college girl is gonna be itching to come out sooner or later."

Richard forced a laugh in response. "Yeah, here's hoping...before my balls fall off..." They shared a guffaw as they exited the employee lounge to begin their rounds of the asylum.

The Joker was led to the rec room, Sly leaving on his cuffs as a precaution to his early morning group therapy. He was dreading it with every step he took away from his cell. He would sometimes listen to the patients that sat in a circle in the far corner of the room, some of them twitching nervously as eyes were locked upon them. Some of the patients would start crying.

Every now and then, especially since their ruckus earlier that week, Crane and The Joker's eyes would meet in a cold glare. The Joker would give him a sneer before looking out the window again and Crane would snicker before turning his attention back to Tetch.

Jervis Tetch. Now there was a walking joke. He may not have had much height on him, but he certainly had the lungs of an opera singer. When he would protest against another patient's comments or make ludicrous accusations to the doctors, The Joker would cringe at the penetrating pitch of his nasally voice.

And The Joker was a man who rarely cringed.

He still couldn't quite figure out why Tetch was in the asylum as he didn't appear to have any psychotic qualities about him, apart from obviously being very obsessed with hats. The Joker would catch him making paper hats of all kinds from the pages of the books he was supposed to be reading, and he would pass by him to take a seat in front of the television and hear him spouting rhymes to himself.

Sly led him into the rec room where the group was already sitting waiting for the doctor that was to lead. The other patients turned their heads toward the door and the only face that didn't show fear as The Joker stepped closer to the circle of chairs was Killer Croc's. The Joker returned his smirk as his orderly led him to a chair and walked out the door again. The Joker was seated two seats away from Croc, but directly in front of Crane.

The ex-doctor eyed his opponent as he took his seat and adjusted the cuffs on his wrists. His lips formed a sneer when The Joker grinned. "Crane..." came The Joker's forced greeting.

"Clown..." Crane grunted back. "I see you finally grew a spine and joined the patients who aren't afraid to show their true selves."

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Don't read too much into this. Besides, I'm not in it for me...my doctor thinks it will be a good distraction." He heard Croc's sudden chuckle and turned his attention to him. "What's funny?" he asked, smirking.

Croc leaned forward a bit, his giant stature overshadowing the two nervous patients sitting beside him. He muttered in response, "It was her eyes, wasn't it, Joker?"

The Joker raised his eyebrow. "What?"

"She gave you the eyes...I know she did," Croc said, confidently. "I should know...it worked on me..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Crane sneered and interjected, "It means, clown, that you fell for her baby blues. That's why you're here..."

The Joker squinted at Crane and realized what he was implying. "Please, Crane. I'm not one to allow _any _woman to make me do anything."

"Ah," Crane said, leaning into the circle. "That's interesting...maybe you can bring that up in 'group.'"

"Save your breath, Straw-face. I'm not here to talk," he snarled. "All I have to do is sit through this one session and then you won't have to worry about me ruining your pow-wow ever again..."

"Unless she makes you go," Crane told him. "Some of the patients in this circle don't even go to doctors, but just benefit from these talks. What makes you think that Dr. Harleen Quinzel wouldn't think you would benefit also?"

The Joker sighed in annoyance. "She wouldn't..."

"All it takes is another dive into those clear pools that she calls her eyes..."

"Speaking of eyes, yours would look much better if they were squeezed outta their sockets..." The Joker growled, but his threat was interrupted by the doctor entering the rec room with a nurse at his side.

"Thank you for your patience, everyone," the young man in white declared as he took a seat close to Crane. The nurse sat in a chair behind him and readied her clipboard for her notes for the group session, and The Joker kept staring at her to see if she would look his way. She was even younger than the doctor and she wore black slacks under her white coat.

He snickered to himself at the fact that _anyone_ could work in the medical field, as this nurse appeared to be just out of high school. The nurse seemed to have finally felt his glare because she cautiously shifted her eyes to The Joker, and he gave her a mischievous leer as he winked. She quietly gasped when she realized who he was and quickly moved her seat to the other side of the doctor while The Joker smiled triumphantly.

"Ah!" the doctor proclaimed. "I see you've finally decided to give us a try, Joker. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Before The Joker could answer, Crane interjected with his own snarky comment, "He's charmed, I'm sure..." Crane smirked as The Joker squinted at him threateningly.

The doctor chuckled uncomfortably and shrugged, "Well, whatever may have changed your mind, I hope you will stay with us after today." He waited for the new patient to respond and when all he received was a blank stare, the doctor cleared his throat. "Since you're new, I'll start the group by introducing myself. I'm Dr. Baldwin and Stacey here, " he motioned to his nurse, "will be taking the minutes and notes of our session."

Stacey rested her clipboard on her lap, now feeling a bit uncomfortable upon discovering that The Joker was no longer in his customary seat by the window but now only a few feet from her. He noticed how she suddenly buttoned her white coat to cover up her chest and before he could think on it, The Joker snickered, saying, "Don't worry, sweetheart...you've got nothing I'm interested in..."

The nurse's jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide, and she couldn't decide if she was appalled because he made a sexist remark or that he insulted her flat chest.

Dr. Baldwin remained oblivious to what was said as Croc tried to stifle a grin. "Okay," the doctor began as he rubbed his hands together. "I think I'd like to start where we left off from Thursday and...where's Mr. Tetch?"

The patients looked in the empty seats as if Tetch would suddenly appear into one of them until they all heard a loud clearing of a throat. Everyone turned their attention to the sofa in front of the television and found him sitting on the far end of it making another paper hat. He met their gaze with a haughty sneer. The Joker turned in his seat and rested his arms on the back of his chair as he anticipated the impending drama.

"Mr. Tetch," Dr. Baldwin said. "Why are you over there? Don't you want to join us?"

"I should say not, Doctor!" he replied immediately.

"But you were communicating just fine on Thursday. What's the matter?"

"I refuse to be a part of a group that allows a rapscallion like him to take part in our discussions! He will only use them as new material for his jokes..."

The Joker cleared his throat and said, "Come on, Jervis, old boy...why would you accuse me of such things?"

Tetch turned his attention away from his next paper hat and squinted cautiously at this sudden query. "Why?" he asked back. "Don't pull that act on me, you sneaky little jester. I know better..."

Crane glanced at The Joker and noticed that he wasn't going to fire back at his friend, so he intervened, "Come, Jervis. This group has been helpful to you."

Dr. Baldwin smiled. "Yes, Mr. Tetch. Please. This is for your own good and you know that. You'll not be judged here."

The Joker noticed that Crane and the doctor exchanged a quick grin and he rolled his eyes.

Ah, he thought to himself. Trying to play 'Teacher's Pet?'

Tetch hesitated but then, without saying another word, he gently set down his toy chapeaus and walked to his seat next to Crane. The Joker turned toward the group once more as Dr. Baldwin continued, Stacey jotting down notes. "Like I was saying, Mr. Tetch...let's resume with you and the thoughts you've been having lately. I believe you said that your old habits were trying to cloud your mind again; I believe those were his exact words, correct, Stacey?"

Stacey quickly nodded, but Tetch suddenly became adamant once again. "No! I've changed my mind! Make him leave, please. I couldn't bear him to take advantage of my vulnerability!"

The Joker clicked his tongue and Crane said, "Don't worry about him, Jervis. Who knows? Maybe today we'll all find out what makes our new member tick..." He smirked at his opponent who just smiled back and then looked down at his hands.

Tetch watched The Joker begin to clean his nails and he assumed that this imposter wasn't paying attention anyway, so he cleared his throat and began, "Yes, Doctor. As I mentioned a few days ago, I began having those...feelings again. Those...urges..."

The Joker stopped in his grooming but kept his eyes on his hands as he bit his tongue to try to stifle his smirk. Tetch continued, "As you know...I never did have a very good childhood. I had to grow up fast what with my mother being...the drunk that she was after my father died..."

The Joker finally lifted his eyes and calmly watched as Tetch revealed his soul to the group. "I had to help raise my little sister, but...that all changed when she died...hit by a car when she was riding her bicycle, poor girl." He stopped to sniff and said, "I can still hear the screech of the tires on the pavement at night sometimes..."

He paused and Dr. Baldwin gently urged him, "It's okay, Mr. Tetch."

Tetch sighed. "Anyway, the urges...I had always felt...childish, I guess, as I grew up and I guess my stature counts for that, as well. I was teased quite a bit in school, my peers jabbing me mainly for my obsession with...Lewis Carroll. But who wouldn't be? His words were naturally lyrical and spoke to me in their childish banter and I was drawn closer to his imaginary world." He paused to smile and he recited, "Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gire and gimble in the wabe; all mimsy were the borogroves --"

"And the mome raths outgrabe," The Joker finished the poem.

Tetch stopped and gazed wide-eyed at him, smirking and saying, "Brilliant work, Jester. And how did you come to know that?"

The Joker chuckled. "Please, Jervy. Anyone who took eighth grade English read _Alice in Wonderland_."

Croc sarcastically lifted his hand as if in a classroom. "I didn't..."

The Joker grinned. "Don't waste your time; just skip to the Red Queen. A woman after my own heart..."

Tetch's smile suddenly turned into a frown. "That wicked tart?!" He stopped himself and remembered Crane's words of comfort before he joined the group and chose to shrug off The Joker's attempt at getting him riled. "Pah! To each his own, clown. I as was saying, this obsession led to my utter infatuation with the character of Alice." He sighed, "Ah...Alice. Such an innocent girl and yet so full of wonderful emotion and strength beyond her years. Well, you can only guess what happened years later, as the papers have described in the past. All those kidnappings and whatnot..."

The Joker's attention was now wrapped in Tetch's story and he leaned forward into the circle and cracked his knuckles. Dr. Baldwin urged him once again, "Please tell us about the kidnappings. What made you do it?"

"The sheer want of companionship! I wanted to live out the fantasies from Lewis Carroll's story! My first Alice was such a sweetie-pie, too, a real treat to be around. Her name was Becky. I remember...I was so obsessed with her...I followed her to school...to the playground. Then, one day...I stopped her as she was walking on the outskirts of the park, picking flowers...and she spoke to me! For once, a girl who wasn't put off by my small stature! I told her that we could have a tea party and she was more than willing..." His voice all of a sudden took on a small growl and he shook it off as soon as it came.

"We had a tea party back at my old place, which was an abandoned shed near the park in the woods. She was so beautiful...and didn't mind at all to change into the blue dress I had saved for many years..."

The Joker's eyebrow began to raise suspiciously as Tetch continued, "We were having such a lovely time. She let me call her Alice and she was great at pretending...until I...went to kiss her."

The Joker straightened in his chair and Croc noticed that one of his hands was now resting on his knee and his knuckles were starting to turn red, as if the muscles in his hand were beginning to grow tense. He remembered The Joker's right hand trembling at their first card game and he assumed that a withdrawal was coming on and he was trying to control it. However, it wasn't until Tetch's next sentence that it wasn't a bad withdrawal he was trying to avoid.

"She wouldn't let me near her, so I chased her...she finally tripped on a pile of rocks outside my shed and, before I could stop myself, my long-repressed urges took over...and I was suddenly on top of her..."

A loud sigh emitted from The Joker as he frowned darkly upon the small man that was seated a few feet in front of him, and only Croc and Crane seemed to notice. Dr. Baldwin kept nodding as Stacey the nurse vigorously took notes.

"I wasn't successful in my endeavor," Tetch mumbled. "She started to scream and, when I saw that she didn't want to play anymore, I...wanted to stop her reality. I grabbed a rock...and..." He paused as he took a deep breath and looked at the doctor, pitifully. "I only meant to stun her, but...I guess I didn't gauge my strength well enough...one hit was all it took..."

"How old was she?" The Joker suddenly growled. Croc glanced at his friend again and saw that the knuckles of the hand that was gripping his knee were now turning white.

Tetch was caught off guard. "I don't see why I should --"

"You called her Alice...Alice was a fictional _little girl_," The Joker said darkly. "How...old was she?"

Dr. Baldwin interceded. "Mr. Tetch, you don't have to reveal anything that you don't want to...there were many more after that, correct?"

Tetch licked his lips. "Yes, Doctor...too many to count...and those thoughts are starting to confuse my mind...they haunt me...they...arouse me...like never before...I think of those girls...my Alices...their sweet faces...the blood on their blue dresses...even how they felt...well, some of them...the ones that let me...get closer to them..."

"You're a fucking pedophile," The Joker exposed the contemptible, sniveling patient in front of him. "That's why you're here?!"

Killer Croc was relieved when The Joker's knuckles regained their color once again, but was now concerned for Tetch's safety. He agreed that pedophilia was more than disgusting, but he didn't want The Joker to be taken into solitary for the rest of the weekend. He hadn't been exposed to that Box yet and Croc knew it too well; he wanted to prevent another reassignment for Dr. Quinzel, as well.

"How dare you?!" Tetch suddenly cried out. "I'm here because I'm sick...and I recognize that, thank you very much!"

"How old were those Alices, Tetch?" The Joker asked. "If you were any more of a man than your height allowed, you would have done us all a favor and took a match to that old shed as well as to yourself!"

Dr. Baldwin tried to prevent a violent outburst, but Crane jumped ahead of him. "Who are you to talk about morals, Clown?" he angrily asked The Joker. "At least Jervis is man enough to admit this to complete strangers and know that he needs help..."

"Where the hell is this holier-than-thou bullshit coming from, Crane?!" The Joker suddenly stood up to face him. He looked up at the slightly taller ex-doctor and sneered. "Wasn't it just yesterday that you had to be put into a jacket because you slammed a fork into someone? Someone who couldn't see what everyone here was trying to do to us patients?!"

Crane nervously looked at Dr. Baldwin, who looked even more confused as The Joker turned his attention back to Tetch. "How old were they, Tetch?"

When he didn't get an answer, he took a step closer and glared angrily down at the now crouching Tetch. "What difference does it make, Joker?" he asked, pathetically.

"Crane says your man enough to admit your mistakes...I'm not convinced that you think it was a mistake when you raped and killed those little --"

"Raped?! I never said that I --"

"It's as plain as the big nose on your face, Tetch! You delighted in your little Alices! You said so yourself that you were obsessed with the character. I doubt that it was just tea parties that took place in that shed!"

"Okay! I did it!" Tetch stood in his chair to face his accuser. "I raped the ones that were too weak!! But they deserved it!! They weren't like my Alice! My Alice wouldn't allow such filthiness into her fantastic world! She wouldn't allow such sick acts to be played upon her lovely features! But I will say this: it was always such a sweet release to be able to bestow my gift upon them before I bashed their brains in!!" His eyes looked as if a tint of red was clouding them as he hissed, nasally, "It was their fault, anyhow. Everyone knows how naive eight-year-olds can be!"

Killer Croc had to pull Crane out of the line of fire as The Joker suddenly swung both his cuffed fists at the raving Tetch, making him fall out of his chair and making Stacey scream. Dr. Baldwin took the walkie-talkie out of his coat pocket and radioed a distress code as The Joker began to slam the back of his victim's head into the concrete floor. Croc grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him off the now subdued and bleeding Jervis Tetch, but Bobby and Sly suddenly appeared and Bobby pushed Croc aside as Sly slammed a needle into The Joker's hip.

He grunted in pain as the medicine burned under his skin and Bobby held him by the arms as he grew limp. "Come on, man," he grunted to Sly. "He's gotta go to the sixth floor. This wacko needs a time-out."

Croc sighed and shook his head as he watched a now unconscious Joker being carried out of the rec room, his feet dragging on the ground.

Crane looked down at Tetch, who was now moaning in pain as Dr. Baldwin was putting a compress to the back of his head. "It's okay, Mr. Tetch. Looks like he only broke the skin. We'll take you to the medical ward where you can rest..."

Crane looked at Killer Croc and suddenly chuckled. Croc didn't like his reaction very much and he demanded, "What's so goddamned funny, Doc?"

A deep tone emitted from Crane's throat as he replied, "I never thought it possible, but...it appears that The Joker's carrying some repressed baggage of his own..."


	13. Lost and Found

**Dude...this story is just pouring outta me. XD**

Harleen stretched her waking body in her bed as the sun shown in the mid-morning sky. She rarely slept late but she kept tossing and turning all night thinking of her patient's journal and what he had written. She was inwardly grateful that it was the weekend and she slowly lifted her body from the bed to change into her exercise clothing.

She stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto her face to help her wake up, and she gasped slightly when she heard her cell phone ring. Harleen dried her face, the towel shielding her eyes and not allowing her to check the Caller ID first.

"Hullo?" she murmured.

"Hey, Harl," came a meek voice on the other end.

Harleen sighed and threw the towel onto the counter. "Richard," she said simply.

"Look, I know that I'm the last person that you wanna talk to," he admitted. "But...I just wanna apologize...for yesterday morning. You know how frustrated I can get..."

Harleen walked back into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. "It really hurt when you called me that, Richard," she told him. "I don't mean to be so withdrawn when you want to get heavy like that, but...I just don't feel ready in this relationship." She bit her lip before saying, "I don't know, Rich. I don't...I don't think this is gonna work. You obviously have something else in mind."

Richard sighed. "Come on, Harleen. Gimme another chance. I'll try to be more...supportive. I know...we work weird hours and when I come over there, all I wanna do is be close to you, but --"

"I come home very tired," she finished his sentence. "I know...that's why I don't think it'll work..."

"Let's go out tonight."

Harleen's eyes widened. "What?" she asked, taken off guard.

"We've never actually gone on a 'date' date. Let's go. I'll take you where ever you want, baby."

She took a brief pause and thought it over. She was a bit relieved that he too realized that they never went out as a couple. Maybe this would be a good way to start over...

...but then she suddenly had an idea.

Harleen raised her eyebrow. "Anywhere I want, huh?"

"Yes!" Richard's voice grew excited. "Name it, babe."

"How about dinner?"

"Sure! Where to, sweetheart?"

Harleen held her breath before finally saying, "Antonio's."

Richard's breath also paused. "Antonio's? That's...uh, a really bad part of town."

"So? You have a concealed-carry license, right?" Harleen asked. "Besides, I hear it's really good. A friend of mine told me that the manicotti was the best..." She paused to grin as she thought of The Joker and when he made the indirect recommendation in their second session. "Please?" she asked pitifully.

Richard's breath finally released itself. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it, Toots. I'll pick you up at eight."

"But you get off at ten," Harleen reminded him.

"Nuts to that! I'm takin' my girl out tonight!" he laughed, making Harleen giggle. "Till then..."

"Bye," she said before closing her cell phone.

Harleen went into the bathroom again and looked into the mirror, and she thought about Dr. Arkham mentioning how his team was helping Gordon's with digging deeper in order to figure out The Joker's past and how he came to be.

She smirked at her reflection when she decided that she was going to use Antonio's to do a bit of her own digging.

Sly dragged The Joker into the elevator, Bobby following close behind to press the button for the sixth floor. "What made him snap, ya think?" Sly asked as he tried to hold the sedated patient upright.

Bobby came over and took off the handcuffs. "My guess is Crane," Bobby answered. "They've been giving each other the evil eye ever since the clown got here."

"Then why would he take it out on Tetch?"

Bobby took a breath as he took The Joker's other arm. "I dunno...maybe cuz he knows that he's friends with Crane. Who knows? He's nuts..."

Sly nodded, only half-accepting that conclusion and soon, they were stepping onto the cold, hushed ward that led to the solitary chambers. There were only four of them at the very end of the hallway, and The Joker was gently placed onto the floor of the very last one on the right. "Should we coat him, Bob?" Sly asked as he backed away.

"Nah," Bobby said. "At least not yet anyway. We'll let Dr. Arkham know what's going on. I'm sure a couple of days in here will make him clear his head."

"Fat chance..." Sly scoffed as Bobby shut the iron door and locked it. They shuffled down to the exit away from the chambers and the last thing they heard as they entered the elevator was the loud, painful moaning of The Joker waking up.

His eyes fluttered open and he discovered that he was flat on his back, spread-eagle, and his wrists free. He moaned once again and let out a long exhale. His head was spinning and he figured another wave from the withdrawals was coming on, but when he felt a throbbing sore on his hip, he then remembered the burning of the medicine that had been administered upon him.

The Joker raised himself up slowly and he looked around just as carefully when he felt the cushioned floor under his hand. He pressed down onto it as his eyes traveled along the walls and to the singular window above his head. The walls were a vacant white and were clearly padded as some of the yellow stuffing was falling out from years of damage and past patients' ravings. His brow creased as he blinked his eyes rapidly and realized that there wasn't a bed, nor was there a sink or a toilet.

Just white...all around him.

The blankness almost hurt his eyes from the light of the sun that was shining through his only window, and he lifted himself to his feet and stood on his tip-toes to peer outside. He found only razor-wire, but no trees like his view from the rec room. He turned to the door and shuffled toward it, trying his best to walk as the dizziness swam in his head and over his eyes.

He supported himself on the door by leaning his chest against it and pressing his scarred cheek against the bars of the window. He whistled as if calling a dog to see if anyone else was in that quiet hallway with him. He tried twice more, but no answer came.

The Joker was completely alone.

He smirked to himself. He didn't mind the quiet. Sometimes it was what he craved from the noises that were around him in the city, both at night and during the daytime. He decided to take a seat in the corner at the back of his new living arrangement, and sighed heavily as he plopped himself down back onto the padded floor.

He crossed his legs in front of him and rested his hands on his knees. "Not so bad," he whispered to the dank air. "Kinda comfy, actually." He pressed his hands onto the padding again and snickered, leaning his head against the corner in which he was sitting.

As he did so, he noticed that there was no light bulb that would need to accompany him when the sun in the window finally took its rest on the west horizon of Gotham City, and he did nothing but sigh and close his eyes, taking in a cat-nap as the sedative did its job.

An hour later, however, he heard loud footsteps slowly coming toward his cell and The Joker opened his eyes and looked at his door. The steps became louder and louder, the sound echoing in his ears and he sneered in annoyance. He growled and stood up and trotted to the door. "Who's there?" he grunted as he looked out its window.

Nobody.

He looked toward the elevators at the end of the hall that were to his left and then glanced to his right and saw nothing as well. The steps came again, closer this time, and he quickly looked to the elevators.

No one. Not even a shadow.

The footsteps sounded like they were pacing in front of his door, and The Joker's breathing started to become uneven but he didn't say anything.

It wasn't until he felt a strange sensation in his cheeks, and a raspy, demanding whisper reverberated in his ears, "_Stand still, you little runt..."_

He let out a startled yell as he backed away from the door and to the wall next to it, looking through the window that looked out in the hallway. The footsteps had stopped, but now he could smell something vaguely familiar: spaghetti sauce.

"What the fuck?" he cursed to himself. The smell was tangy, and upon its entering his flared nostrils, The Joker instantly envisioned a busy restaurant and the sound of drinks being refilled, serving as an undertone to gruff men's laughter.

The smell was too much for The Joker as he let himself slide back onto the padded floor and, before he knew it, his eyelids closed and he was in darkness.

_"Hey, Johnny!" Tony's voice resounded in the kitchen. "Hurry up with that primavera, you stupid asino! Those customers have been waiting a year and day for you!"_

_"I'm comin', you old sciocco!" Johnny answered back as he tried to steady a big plate of penne pasta in one hand while spooning a heaping pile of marinara over the steamed vegetables that were resting on top. _

_"That's what your mother said to me last night," Tony joked, making the younger men in the hot kitchen cackle with glee._

_"Hey, fuck you, huh?" Johnny cursed as he brought the plate to Giancarlo, the young waiter that was waiting nervously at the kitchen doors that served as a partition to the packed dining room on the other side. _

_Tony patted the waiter gently on the shoulder. "Take it slow, kid," he said in a comforting voice, far different from the one that reprimanded his head cook. "You did beautiful this afternoon. Now, go on and charm the late crowd, huh, Carlo?"_

_"Yes, sir," Carlo grinned as he expertly balanced his now full hand over his shoulder._

_"Yes, sir, he says!" Tony exclaimed proudly. "Take a lesson, Johnny," he turned to his cook. "That's what respect sounds like."_

_"Respect this!" Johnny barked back as he threw down his towel and grabbed his crotch, his hand stained from the marinara sauce. "I'm gonna take my break now." He bolted to the back, grabbing his leather jacket from the hook by the office._

_"Five minutes!" Tony yelled after him. "We're too busy tonight for you to be jerkin' around very hour!"_

_Johnny was already out the back door that led behind the restaurant and he took the cigarette from its resting place behind his ear. He put it in his mouth and lit it, inhaling deeply and exhaling the smoke along with his sigh of relief. He put his hand on his hip as he looked up at the moon that was perfectly full and he sneered. "I'm sure the weirdoes are out tonight," he said to himself. _

_He suddenly heard the sound of trash cans falling close by and reached behind him by the crudely rolled-up garden hose and brought out a baseball bat. He gripped it like a major leaguer and crept toward the crowd of garbage cans and spotted the source of the commotion: the silhouette of a lanky teenager._

_"Oh, you fucker..." Johnny whispered threateningly. "Stand still, you little runt! I'm gonna knock some sense into you!" To Johnny's amazement, the teen simply did just that. He stood still. He didn't even flinch as Johnny stomped closer to him, bat at the ready._

_When the cook came a bit closer, the teen finally backed away slowly and he finally got a good look at the intruder's features. Johnny brought the bat down to his side and when he realized what he was looking at, the bat fell from his hand, the sound of the wood echoing off the icy pavement as the back door of the restaurant sounded. _

_"Jesus Christ..." was all Johnny could say as Tony joined his side._

_"Johnny! Come on! No more breaks for..." Tony's eyes met the intruder's and he cautiously stepped closer, the teenager backing away another footstep into the streetlight. "Kid?" Tony said softly. "What the...?" _

_The old Italian couldn't find the words to ask what had happened to the teenager that stood before him and his cook, his short hair a dirty mass and dark, dried blood caked to his cheeks._

_After a short, uncomfortable silence, Tony cleared his throat and asked, "You hungry, kid? You look like you haven't eaten a while."_

_The teen stood silent for a few seconds and then brought his hands up and rubbed them up and down his arms that were trying to stay warm in his torn flannel shirt. Johnny threw his cigarette onto the pavement and took off his jacket and slowly walked over to the kid, placing the heavy leather onto his shoulders. _

_"What's a kid like you running around outside like this in December?" Johnny asked gently. The kid didn't respond to his raspy whisper, but he allowed the leather jacket to be draped over him, and he leaned against the strong cook in exhaustion and relief as they walked toward the back of the restaurant._

_Tony put his arm gently around the boy's shoulder when Johnny brought him closer. "You can hang out in my office for a while, mio figlio. It's quiet in there. I'll have Carlo bring you a plate of something. What would you like?"_

_The kid stopped in his tracks when they reached the back door. He raised his dark, empty eyes to the old Italian, who was smiling under his white mustache. No longer feeling threatened, the young man tried to smirk but winced and brought a hand up to his bloodied cheeks. "I like manicotti..."_

_Tony chuckled. "We got the best in town, kiddo." He patted him on the back as he led him inside. "But before that, let's get your face cleaned up and properly bandaged. You look like you been through Hell."_

_Johnny inwardly agreed with his boss, as he noticed that the teenager's stitching job on his cheeks looked far from sanitary and just as rough as the tired look in his young eyes._

_Hours later, after the stuffed patrons walked out of the restaurant into the cold city streets, their faces content after their hearty meals, the kid sat quietly in Tony's office as he listened to the sounds of dirty dishes being brought in to be washed. The kind old man had cleaned his face with warm water and soap, washing off the specks of dark blood as best as he could._

_The entire time he was doing this, the kid was afraid that the man would start to interrogate him as to what happened. However, the old man remained as quiet as he did, sitting in front of him as he cleaned his wounds with a relaxed face, as if he had been tending to his own child. The kid found it a bit odd that this stranger would be so willing to help him, especially with the way he must look. _

_To the boy's relief, Tony didn't have to pull out the stitches that were coarsely laced in and out of his cheeks, but instead he had calmly cupped his chin as he dabbed the wounds with peroxide-soaked cotton swabs. The pained grunts and whimpers that emitted from his throat were the only sounds the boy made as he was being treated._

_Now, he sat alone, looking at nothing but the dirty tiled floor beneath his feet. He noticed that his sneakers were becoming worn down and the sole of the right one was falling off at the toe. He took off Johnny's leather jacket and carefully stood up and walked to the desk in front of him, draping it over the chair. He looked at the scattered papers on the table and noticed letters with which even he was very familiar: THIRD NOTICE, PAST DUE, FAILURE TO PAY._

_It dawned on the kid that this old man was struggling himself._

_"It's tough for a businessman these days, kiddo," came Tony's voice behind him._

_The kid quickly turned his head and gave him an apologetic look as Tony chuckled in response. "Ah, it's okay, pally," he said calmly. "I don't mind. Why should I tell you to mind your own business when I've clearly gotten into yours by bringing you in?"_

_The boy smirked as best as he could, his lacerations on his cheeks feeling a bit better from having been properly cleaned. He nodded as he took his seat in the chair away from the desk as Tony sat across from him at his desk. "I never usually stay this late at the restaurant, but...considering the circumstances...anyway, I'm sure my wife will be wondering..."_

_"Antonio!" came a shrill voice entering the kitchen._

_Tony looked at the boy, who creased his brow in confusion. "Right on time..." he mumbled as he raised himself from the desk and walked to his office door to meet the worried look on his wife's face. _

_The woman, whose short, black hair was streaked with white and stacked high with hairspray met her husband at the door. "Antonio, for God's sake! I've been worried sick! You don't call your wife anymore when you're gonna be late now, or what?"_

_Tony grumbled. "Mama mia, Rhonda. I had to be held up."_

_"I thought for sure the Azarellos came in here with their ruffians and their...oh my God..." Tony found that his wife's eyes were suddenly resting on the poor boy in his office. "Tony, who is that?" she asked worriedly. "Good Lord, what happened to him?"_

_Tony put his hands on Rhonda's shoulders. "Calm down, honey. C'mere; I'll explain."_

_The boy put his head down and stared at the floor again, this time trying to hold back his tears. He knew his wounds wouldn't heal properly and he knew that he would never look the same again, and he was reminded of this by the wife of the man who was helping him. A tear escaped his eye and trickled down his nose, but he quickly wiped it away when he heard loud footsteps getting closer to door. _

_He looked up to find a young man, who appeared to be only a few years older than he was, wearing all black and balancing a plate in his right hand. The waiter paused when he saw the kid's face, but he gulped and said, "Hey..."_

_The kid responded, "Hey..." _

_"I'm Carlo," the waiter said. He suddenly snickered, "You order the special?"_

_The kid glanced at the heaping plate of food, three big rolls of cheese-stuffed manicotti with steaming marinara sauce oozing over the sides and covered in Parmesan cheese. He let out a relieved sigh and eagerly nodded as Carlo smiled, setting the plate and a tall glass of milk onto the desk and backing away just in time to miss the kid's eager rush to his meal._

_"Eat up," Carlo said, watching the boy cutting into the manicotti and carefully placing it into his mouth. He chewed slowly to keep from biting the insides of his cheeks, but he closed his eyes after he swallowed the first bite, allowing his stomach to wake up and realize that there was finally food. _

_Carlo was soon joined by Johnny, who came up behind him with a towel over his shoulder. He chuckled, "Kid's got his appetite, at least."_

_Tony and his wife squeezed between the cook and the waiter and the old man smiled. "Pretty good, huh?"_

_The boy nodded happily as Johnny laughed and said, "There's plenty where that came from."_

_Rhonda sat in the chair in which the young boy had been sitting and watched him. "Poor thing," she cooed maternally. _

_Tony felt that the kid was comfortable enough with his meal, so he cleared his throat and finally asked, "What happened, kiddo?"_

_The boy suddenly stopped eating and swallowed his bite hard as he looked at them. Tony patted his arm. "Now, you don't have to give any details. It's okay..."_

_The kid licked his lips and mumbled, "Accident..."_

_"That's a hell of an accident..." Johnny replied._

_"Shut up, you mook," Rhonda snarled at him. "This ain't funny."_

_"Did I say it was funny?" Johnny barked back._

_"Hey, hey!" Tony interjected. "Enough. Let the kid talk."_

_"How long you been on the streets, honey?" Rhonda softly asked._

_The kid started eating his third manicotti roll and replied, "About a week, I think, ma'am..." He paused and took a long sip of cold milk and then resumed eating his food._

_Rhonda gasped. "Oh, you poor little tesoro...without a coat and everything...your mother must be outta her mind, worried..."_

_The kid suddenly stopped eating, his throat tightening and his eyes beginning to burn with the threat of tears once more. He sniffed and choked out, "I guess..." He lowered his eyes onto his plate, but then he set down his fork and gulped down the rest of his milk, and when he finished and brought down the glass, the tears came hard and he couldn't stop them._

_Rhonda lifted herself from the chair and went over to him, gently running her hand up and down his back as he sobbed, his tears splashing onto the plate. "Shh shh...it's okay, baby..." she comforted._

_Tony looked to Carlo and Johnny, who each held a sympathetic countenance. "Carlo," Tony said, and the young waiter looked at him with sad eyes. "Go get a small glass of brandy and bring it here. It'll calm him down." He looked back at the kid who was now allowing Rhonda to scratch her long, acrylic nails soothingly across his neck. _

_Tony knew this boy had a story to tell, but right now he needed to eat and needed a place to stay. He was more than happy to be the man to offer him these things. He sighed and placed his hand on his shoulder. "You got a name, kiddo?" he asked quietly._

_The kid took a deep breath and raised his dark, sorrowful eyes to the kind old man. He sniffed and answered him in a weary, frail voice..._

_"Jack." _


	14. Heart Burn

_Rhonda stayed behind with her husband as he locked the entrance to the restaurant. Carlo stayed by the car, watching the scrappy teenager trace his finger on the door handle of the old Buick. He could only wonder what was going through the kid's mind after a week on the streets with no shelter or food and then finally finding salvation, even if it was from a small family that was struggling to keep a good business in a dirty city. _

_Without thinking, Carlo asked softly, "How old are you?"_

_Jack raised his dark eyes, now red with crying and exhaustion. He carefully licked his lips and answered, "Fifteen..."_

_"You were really living on the street?" Carlo asked._

_Jack nodded and turned to lean against the car and lifted his eyes to the worn-down sign above the restaurant. 'Antonio's' it read. Jack lazily pointed to Tony, "I guess that's Antonio," he said, half to himself._

_Carlo grinned. "Yeah...he's Pop, to me."_

_Soon, Carlo's parents made their way to the car, Rhonda opening the door for Jack, saying, "Come on, honey. It's getting colder out here. Let's get you in some clean, warm clothes, huh?"_

_The back doors closed behind both boys as Tony started the car, and as they drove away, Jack's eyes closed wearily and the throbbing in his cheeks were beginning again as he drifted into a light doze._

The Joker awoke when he felt the pounding in his face, but realized that it was from the vibration of his beating heart. He blinked hard and sniffed as he turned his face to the window when he didn't see the sun's rays.

Evening. He had been sleeping soundly for a long time. He sat up as he rubbed his face, the saltiness of Tetch's blood still on his fingertips. He smiled as he sighed, remembering the horrible grunting as he had pulverized the back of the little man's skull. The smile faded when he also remembered why he had pounced on his victim.

The Joker himself had his faults, but pedophilia wasn't one of them. He had his reasons as to why he never dabbled in that kind of filth the city had to offer.

The dream from which he had awakened was far too real, as if it were happening all over again. Sure, he had been to Antonio's many times after he had left the family, but it had been a long time since he had thought about them in that way. He remembered how cold it was that night, the stale smell of cigarettes on Johnny's shirt as he leaned into him, and how the noise of the busy kitchen echoed in his ears as he sat in Tony's office.

The memory of the manicotti in his empty stomach was what suddenly made him realize that he was also presently hungry. His belly growled angrily and he clutched it uncomfortably as he stood and walked to the door.

The dark hallway was eerily silent and open as he peered toward the elevators. He secretly hoped that someone would come through with a tray for him, or even the clichéd bread and water. He knew that he wasn't going to fare well without food right now. The new "three meals a day" luxury that Arkham provided him had spoiled The Joker in a way. If his stomach didn't receive its customary dinner, then it would torture him until it was fed.

As if on cue, his stomach roared again and he groaned as he slid onto the floor again. He lifted his eyes to the window and tried to distract himself from the long hours of solitary by counting the stars that he could see.

The cab driver had given Richard a strange look when he and his beautiful date asked to be taken to Antonio's over on West Park. Nevertheless, the extra ten dollar tip before he had even shifted into Drive was what finally convinced him to pull out into the street to traverse to a more dangerous one.

Once there, Richard produced an extra five for him, and as soon as the couple stepped out and away, the driver sped off down the street. Harleen didn't have to wonder why; from what she and her boyfriend were seeing, the restaurant seemed a bit out of place in this dingy little corner of Gotham. The red neon sign that was flashing its moniker reflected into a puddle near the gutter and the black and white tile that surrounded the wooden door added a peculiar retro feel to the atmosphere.

They were greeted inside by an older gentleman with a white mustache, a small smile on his face with a touch of surprise in his aged eyes. "Welcome!" he shouted joyfully. "Ahh, young lovers out enjoying only the finest of Italian cooking, huh?"

Harleen meekly smiled as Richard put his arm around her waist as they followed the old host to a quaint booth in a corner near the kitchen. He hand them each a menu and rubbed his hands together as he said, "So! This is your first time, I see? I never forget a face and yours I've never seen. As you've guessed by now, I'm Antonio; Tony to my friends, so...please..."

He turned away to the bar close to their table and produced a small black book. "Here is the wine list. Don't worry about being shy in spending too much on the wine as the House Merlot is also very good."

Richard immediately piped in, "We'll have a bottle of that, please."

"Excellent, _signiore_! Now...I'll give you two a minute to look over what you want..."

"Actually, I've decided," Harleen said suddenly. The old man looked into her baby blues, not hiding the fact that they charmed him. "I've heard good things about your manicotti. I'll have that, please."

"Ah, miss. You've heard right," Antonio assured her. "I guarantee that you will leave satisfied. And you, sir?"

Richard shrugged. "I guess just the spaghetti with meatballs."

"Playing it safe, I see," Antonio joked. "Not to worry." He turned toward the kitchen after taking their menus and Harleen smirked when she heard him shouting, "Hey, Johnny! Spaghetti and a manicotti for Table 9! And don't be too stingy with the Parmesana! The pretty lady looks fiery!"

Richard chuckled. "Weirdo..."

Harleen's smirk faded. "I think he's charming," she said sweetly. "He's just making sure that we're taken care of...I used to work in a restaurant."

"Well, let's hope the food is as good as the service," Richard muttered as he absentmindedly flipped through the wine list. "I was kinda put off when we walked in here and didn't see anyone else."

Harleen scanned the dining room and realized that there were no other patrons enjoying dinner. She gulped, almost regretting even suggesting this place so she could put herself into a tighter situation. However, she needed answers, not just for the police, but for herself as well. She hadn't thought about how she would get out to this place alone, but then Richard had seemed desperate in taking her out to make amends.

She was glad to use that bit of pity to her advantage.

Richard suddenly rose out of his chair upon seeing the restroom. "I'll be right back," he told her as he motioned toward it. "If I'm not back in five minutes, send a search party."

"Or a plunger," Harleen joked as she grinned slyly.

"Very lady-like, Harl," he chuckled as he walked away.

She played with her fingers in her lap as she sat alone, the sudden smell of marinara drifting into her nose. The kitchen doors opened and Antonio limped his way out and over to the bar to fetch their wine. He plastered on his fake smile once again as he trumped over to Harleen. "Miss, your wine," he introduced as he poured. "There's plenty where that came from..."

"Thanks," she said almost in a whisper. After he poured Richard's glass and started to limp away, Harleen said, "Very nice place, Mr. Antonio."

He turned back to her and smiled again, this time genuine. "Thank you, miss, and please...Tony."

"You must have been here a while, Tony," she said.

"Ah, yes," he said in a reverie. "Almost twenty years, in fact. We were very popular when we opened...but, I'm afraid that too many people are in too much of a hurry to eat. I mean, why sit and enjoy a home-cooked meal when you can gorge yourself for five bucks at the Mickey D's on the corner?"

Harleen giggled, which made him grin more, and she said, "I think it's a shame. I've always loved Italian food, but you really can't get quality until you've sat yourself down in a family atmosphere like this one..."

Antonio nodded appreciatively. "That's very kind of you, miss. We are a family, indeed. My youngest son started as a waiter here when he was eighteen. He's in business school now. Ha...he wants to try to save the family business, but...I don't think his way is possible...maybe a few years ago, but...not now..."

Harleen blinked a sad eye to him and said, "I agree...you must have a really nice investor to keep you open for as long as you have..."

Antonio's smile left him and he licked his lips nervously. "Investor...yes, he is, in a way..."

"You must really trust him, what with all the slime in this city."

The old man's mouth became dry. "Slime, yes..."

Harleen decided to stop beating around the bush and reveal why she was really there. "This place doesn't seem like it would be hiding anything...that is until The Joker takes an invested interest in it..."

Antonio dropped the bottle of wine at the mention of his name, making Harleen squeal in surprise. Her sly tactic had him cornered, she knew, but now she was afraid that she was about to give him a heart attack. Her worries stopped when he stammered, "H-he...did he send you?"

Harleen didn't flinch at his steady, perturbed gaze at her, but just took a breath and said, "In a way...but I don't work for him. He works alone..."

Maybe if I play that game with him, she thought to herself, then he will tell me what I need to know.

"So," Antonio said softly. "He doesn't...know you're here..."

"No," she answered truthfully. "And he doesn't have to know...unless you don't cooperate..." Something inside her felt slight anguish for threatening this innocent old man, but another part of her wanted to do it. She liked the feeling of power her locked gaze had on him and the adrenaline that now pumped into her veins wouldn't dare try to prevent her from getting what she wanted.

After all, blackmail had worked for her in school.

"What do you want, then?" Antonio asked nervously. "Please...just enjoy the meal...and go...I have nothing to give you. The Joker..."

"He doesn't care about money!" she said sharply, momentarily not recognizing her own voice. "You know that..."

"Then what do you want?"

"Answers," Harleen said, simply.

"What?" They both turned their heads when they heard the doors to the restroom open and Richard made his way back to the table.

"What happened here?" he asked when he saw the broken wine bottle on the floor.

Antonio came out of his daze and chuckled, "Oh! Just an accident! As I was telling Miss here, no worries. There's plenty more..." After he cleaned up the mess, he lifted knowing eyes to Harleen as he walked by, but she merely grinned.

Richard smiled at her as he sat down. "So?"

Harleen lifted her eyes to him, suddenly remembering that he was with her. "So...what?"

He laughed. "I was waiting for my plunger..."

"Gross, Richard," she giggled, throwing her napkin at him playfully.

Minutes later, their plates came out of the kitchen and Harleen's stomach started twisting and turning as she gazed at her enormous portion of manicotti. "Looks delicious," she said as she looked up at the nervous host, and he half-grinned at her.

He accidentally dropped the towel that was on his shoulder and knelt down to pick it up, and as he raised himself, Harleen noticed that he had carefully tossed a note onto her lap. Her mouth parted as she glanced at it, but picked up her fork nonchalantly.

"Thank you," Richard told Antonio and the old man's forced smile shone once again as he trotted back to the kitchen.

Harleen took a big bite of her dish and sighed contentedly as her taste buds did swan dives onto their treat. "Oh, man..." she mumbled. "I've had manicotti before, but this..." She pointed her fork at her plate as Richard was busy with his spaghetti. She went to take her napkin and wipe her mouth, but stopped and read the note that was on her lap.

"Make an excuse to go to the kitchen."

It was a simple enough plan, although she had difficulty swallowing the rest of her meal as her adrenaline pounded anxiously in her body.

When she felt she couldn't eat anymore, she pretended to search for their host. "I'm gonna go to the kitchen and ask for a doggy bag..."

Richard stopped her. "I'll go..."

Harleen twirled around as she got out of her chair. "No...really. I'll go. I want to tell Tony how great everything was..." She grabbed her napkin and pretended to wipe her hands, but she really was rolling her salad fork into the linen as she made her way to the kitchen.

"Hello?" she called out as she stepped behind the doors and further into the room that smelled of cooking oil and garlic. "Tony?" She gripped her simple weapon in her small hands, and slightly jumped when she saw the old man sidestep out of his office near the back door.

"Come on, miss," he said as he beckoned her. "No tricks, I swear. I'm an old man..."

"Where's your cook?" she demanded. "Everyone else?"

Johnny suddenly stepped into view, his arms crossed. Harleen could tell that Johnny was once lean and brawny as his arms were steadily losing their muscular tone and his once flat stomach had a slight protuberance. "When Tony says no tricks," the cook said. "He means it..."

Harleen hesitated but slowly made her way toward the owner's office. When she was offered a seat across from his desk, she sat cautiously, crossing her legs as she spied a picture of a middle-aged woman that hung on the wall.

"My late wife," Tony explained when he noticed her gaze. "Poor thing was caught in the crossfire of a drive-by...all she was doing was watering the flower bed in our front lawn..."

"Tony," Harleen began. "I'm not here because The Joker sent me." She straightened in her chair. "I need to ask you some questions..."

"I don't know too much, doll face," he suddenly said, making Harleen inwardly smile as she recognized the empty term of affection that her patient had used with her. "I don't know who he is; I've already told your guys this already..."

"My guys?"

Johnny suddenly realized before Antonio. "You're not a cop?"

"Oh, God, no!" Harleen said, giggling. The two men didn't think it very funny, but she nevertheless continued, "I'm not a cop. I don't even..." She bit her lip. "I am helping them, in a way, though."

"You told me that The Joker sent you," Antonio said.

"If I had told you that I was with the police, you would either not talk to me or you would have laughed at me," Harleen said matter-of-factly. "I knew the only way to get my answers was to tell you I had some sort of connection with your...investor..."

Antonio leaned forward to her, asking, "Just what sort of connection do you have then, Miss...?"

"Doctor," she finally corrected. "Dr. Quinzel."

Johnny's eyes grew wide. "You're The Joker's...?" Harleen nodded before he continued, "Dear God..."

Harleen smirked. "Are you surprised that a doctor wants to learn more about her patient?"

"No, I'm surprised that you're still alive..."

The two men finally shared a chuckle, enjoying the sudden ease in tension around them. Harleen smiled and said, "Look, I told my date that I wanted to thank you personally for the meal, so let's wrap this up before he begins to wonder just how thankful I am..." Antonio let a charmed smile spread across his face as she said, "I wanted to know if you would agree to talking with me about him..."

The owner and his cook looked at each other a moment with slight hesitation until Harleen said, "We can meet somewhere...or we can correspond over the phone. I'm sort of helping the cops, but...I really want to find out why he is the way he is..."

"We still can't figure it out either," Johnny mumbled.

"_Asino_!" Antonio cursed. "Let me tell it to her." He balanced his tired eyes to the young doctor and said, "We can meet...but it has to be in a public place. This city no longer has discreet venues; there is no privacy in Gotham."

"Good," Harleen said. "Let's meet Monday. One o clock...at, uh..." She thought for a moment and then, "Gotham City Zoo..."

"That place is huge," Antonio reminded her. "Be more specific."

Harleen bit her lip to keep from smiling and said, "By the hyena cages..."

Johnny laughed at the sardonic rendezvous point, but Antonio nodded. "Fair enough."

Harleen nodded and Johnny escorted her to the kitchen doors, but stopped when her host rose from his desk and called after her, "I know he's talked about me, then...since you already knew who I was...so..."

She turned to him. "So...what?"

He gulped nervously. "What exactly did he say?"

She couldn't help but smile. "He said your manicotti was the best in town...he was right."

Her smile lingered as she walked out of the doors and into the dining room to meet Richard. As they waited for a taxi, Harleen was satisfied knowing that she was going to get to dig deeper, but a small part of her felt a deeper contentment when she thought of the old man's relieved smile that grew on his face as she had turned to leave.

_Jack tossed himself onto his side as he lay on the bed that was once Carlo's older brother's, and he stared past the bedroom door that was slightly ajar and leading into the hallway. He could hear Rhonda preparing his tattered clothes for the laundry machines, mentioning every rip and tear and stain that she came across to her tired husband._

_"That poor boy. Look at this blood stain...in all my life..." she mumbled._

_"Baby, please," Tony quietly admonished her. "The boys are trying to sleep."_

_"I'm sorry, honey, but this whole night has been somethin' else..."_

_"Tell me about it," Tony agreed. "Well, no more streets for him. He'll stay here until we can figure something out...maybe his mom and dad are out lookin' for him."_

_"I don't know, Tony," Rhonda said as she searched the pockets of Jack's clothing. "You'd think we'd seen something in the paper about a missing kid...I mean, he says he's been roaming for a week, yet...nothin' in the papers at all. No reward promised, no alert...nothin'. It's as if the poor thing just dropped from the sky..."_

_Tony nodded as he watched his wife. She suddenly stopped when she felt something in Jack's jeans pocket. She slowly pulled out her hand and her mouth slightly parted as a sigh escaped her. Tony saw that in her hand was a set of deep purple Rosary beads with a Crucifix that looked aged from usage. He walked over to his wife as a tear ran down her cheek. "Baby...what's-a matter?"_

_Rhonda sniffed and held the Rosary beads to her chest. "I know now how he survived on the street so long...the poor thing..." She held the Crucifix in her hand and spied the small blood stain across the torso and she licked her lips as she wiped her face._

_Jack moved his eyes to Carlo, who was in a deep sleep in his bed on the other side of the room. He decided that he couldn't sleep so he got out of bed and walked to the window and took a seat on the wide sill. Rhonda had given him Carlo's old pajamas and they were hanging off his lanky build, but he felt grateful that he had a full belly and was finally warm. _

_He couldn't remember exactly how long it had taken him to walk from his home to Gotham City, but he had known that he would have had far worse luck if he hadn't broken into the drug store to grab supplies. He recalled how he hurriedly sneaked into a gas station bathroom and had spent hours soaking his cheeks in peroxide and nearly biting through his flannel sleeve as he brought the needle painfully in and out of his cheeks. _

_Jack turned toward the window and leaned his head against the pane, trying to entice sleep upon him by counting the stars._


	15. Pot Calling the Kettle Black

Richard and Harleen stood in the elevator that took them to her ninth floor apartment. He had been cracking jokes and making her smile ever since they got out of the cab, and he was pleased that their night was going so well. He had been nervous about their first official date; Richard was serious in starting over with her, but he knew the test was far from over when they walked out of the elevator and to her apartment door.

Harleen stopped and turned to him. "Well..."

He shrugged and sighed. "Well..."

She bit her lip and said, "It was fun tonight. Very different from...having to wait for you to get off work at ten so you can come over and go to sleep."

Richard chuckled. "Yeah, well...Andrew wasn't too happy that I was leaving him alone tonight, but...I told him it was for a good reason...a great reason, actually."

Harleen couldn't help but smile and look at her shoes, coyly. He suddenly stepped closer to her, lifted her chin, and gave her a sensual kiss. She moaned softly under his lips and caressed his cheek until he pulled away. She smirked. "I guess...we should turn in, huh?"

Richard returned her grin. "Nah, _you_ should turn in..." When he saw Harleen's brow raise in surprise, his grin got bigger. "Look, you're giving me a chance to make things work. I don't wanna spoil it by...making it a one-night-stand..."

Harleen giggled. "Okay. I guess chivalry isn't dead, after all."

He shook his head and was about to retort, but his cell phone let out a loud chime. He quickly took it out of his pocket and clicked his teeth. "It's Andrew. Guess he's trying to tell me how much he misses me..."

She chuckled as he flipped open his phone. "Hullo?" he said. "Drew, I'm trying to end my date like a gentleman. What's up?" She watched his face changed from sarcasm to amusement. "Say what?" He suddenly guffawed and Harleen wrinkled her brow in confusion. "No way, man! How bad is he hurt?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Who?" she asked in slight panic. "Who's hurt?"

Richard glanced at her. "Hang on, Drew. Hey, Harl, Tetch is in the infirmary. The back of his head is all bloodied up. Seems he said something in group therapy that The Joker didn't like and he...what's that, man?" he turned his attention back to his phone.

Harleen's mouth opened in shock. She knew that her patient hadn't like the idea of doing her that specific favor, and now she was kicking herself at being so naive at thinking that The Joker was going to do just fine with the other patients.

"Uh huh," Richard continued with his phone conversation. He glanced at Harleen again, saying, "They had to drag that clown to The Box. They said they had to knock him out and when they came to bring a tray, he was talkin' in his sleep..."

Harleen grabbed Richard's arm. "What was he saying?"

Richard was taken aback slightly by his girlfriend's interest, but answered, "I don't know...hey, Drew? What was the clown saying?" A pause. "Yeah...uh huh...he said it sounded like a prayer..."

Instead of another kiss good night, all Richard got in response from Harleen was her door slamming shut, leaving him alone in her hallway. "Hey, Drew. I'll call ya back..." He began to knock on her door. "Hey, babe? You okay?"

Harleen cracked open her door a bit and said, "Yeah...um...I just...the manicotti...too much tomato...my stomach is all goopy."

"Ew," Richard joked. "Total dating fail, Harl."

Harleen forced a laugh and said, "Thanks, Richard. I'll, uh...I'll see you later. Night!"

The door slammed just before her disconcerted boyfriend could return the gesture.

"Oh my God," she muttered as she ran to her closet and changed into her jeans and a comfortable blouse. She threw on her tennis shoes and a pullover hoodie and ran to the window. When she saw Richard's cab speed off down the street, she grabbed her set of keys and left her apartment once again, but not before grabbing her notebook.

As she ran out to her car in the parking garage, Harleen tried to figure out exactly why she was in such a hurry to get to the asylum. She had barely been gone a whole day and even though she knew that she would eventually she her patient again Monday, she knew that she would drive herself crazy waiting for that meeting. She had to go to him while he was still in this emotional state.

Harleen had seen many patients go into solitary and it was there that their deepest feelings would emerge, and that the mere loneliness of their temporary environment would allow them to reveal themselves with the hope of ending their solitude.

She sometimes thought that this was a very inhumane way to get irrational and sometimes violent cases to cooperate, but what other doctor could be lucky enough to see The Joker at his most vulnerable...if indeed he was capable of that nature.

This rationalizing accompanied her as she drove to Arkham and soon she was pulling up the security booth, meeting the perplexed face of Andrew.

Shit, she cursed to herself.

"Dr. Quinzel?" he asked as he stepped out. "Don't you ever take a day off?"

She forced a smile. "I just realized that I forgot some crucial papers on my desk and they can't wait till Monday."

Andrew set down his clipboard and pressed the button for the mechanical arm to lift. "Thanks, Andrew," she called as she drove past the gate. "I won't be long..."

Harleen was grateful of her old sneakers as she jogged inside the asylum, passing by the sleeping security guard and nearly bumping into Sly. "Oh!" she exclaimed as he quickly jumped out of her way. "Sorry!" Sly just waved back and continued to walk to the employee lounge for a soda. He wasn't put off by her; many doctors chose to take their only days off to come back to work. He thought it a waste of free time.

She paced on the elevator as it traveled to the sixth floor. "Come on..." she pleaded with the numbers above the doors as the car moved. Soon, her destination was reached and she jumped past the doors, but stopped in her tracks as she stared down the dark hallway.

Harleen kicked herself once more for not bringing a flashlight. The hallway of solitary was dimly lit by the moon as its rays traveled through the bars of the rooms' small windows, just barely illuminating the walk to the end of the hall in front of her.

She took a deep breath and gulped as she slowly stepped forward, taking out her cell phone and opening it. The small glare from its screen helped and Harleen carefully took soft steps and kept her hand on the concrete wall. Her pulse started to race, but she took comfort when she noticed that her vision was adjusting to the darkness around her.

She paused in her steps when she heard soft murmuring in the cell just a few feet away from her. She bit her lip as she walked closer and shined her phone through the bars of the door and its light found her sleeping patient crouched in a corner and talking to himself. Harleen strained to listen to him and all she could make out were slurred words, "full of grace...blessed art thou...fruit of thy womb..."

Harleen softly gasped when she realized that he was mumbling a Hail Mary and seemed to be repeating it over and over.

She fumbled with her cell phone and notebook, trying to open it and write with the pen attached to it. "Shit!" she cursed in a loud whisper as she dropped the pen, and she quickly glanced to see that The Joker was still sleeping. She bent down to pick it up and when she raised herself again, Harleen came face to face with her patient as his tired face glared at her through the bars of the door.

The sudden movement startled her and she let out a small shriek, to which The Joker laughed. Harleen steadied herself against the wall by his cell and caught her breath. "Jesus Christ, Mr. Joker!" she exclaimed, making him chuckle.

He waved a sarcastic, scolding finger at her, saying, "You shouldn't sneak up on people. They might return the favor..."

She smiled and took a deep breath before straightening up again. She cautiously stepped to the door and noticed that his toothy grin made his scars stretch across his face even more. The light in his eyes was a bit of a surprise to her as she had assumed that the solitude would keep him restless.

He licked his lips as his smile left him. "What are you doing here, Doc? I know I'm crazy, but I could have sworn that it was the weekend."

Harleen sighed. "I heard what happened...with you and Tetch."

He snickered. "Nothing happened to _me_, Doc. Now, Tetch..."

"Why did you do it? What did he say to you?"

"Oh, he said plenty," he answered darkly. There was a tense moment of silence between them and he continued, "I always wondered why a little twerp like him was in here...I assume you know what he did..."

Harleen nodded. "Yes...it's unfortunate, but...he's here to heal."

This made her patient scoff. "Heal? You can't cure someone like that. Call it a sickness if you want, but what Tetch did to those...kids...well, the only cure for someone like that is --"

"So you're above someone like that, then?"

He sneered. "I'm more than above pedophilia, Doc."

"But you murdered innocent people, too. I'm sure you've killed a few kids in your little bombing excursions..."

The Joker set himself closer to the bars of the door. "If I did, it was an accident. But blowing up kids and raping them are two completely different things..."

Harleen was quiet and then asked, "Have you ever raped a _grown_ woman...besides the hooker you killed?"

He stared at her in the darkness and just noticed that her hair wasn't in the tight bun like it always was, but had been brushed out evenly and its smooth locks were cascading past her shoulders. "Your hair looks pretty like that..." he whispered in a soothing tone.

The tone was enough to give Harleen chills. "I'll ask you again: have you ever raped --"

"Once...a long time ago..." he answered. He paced to and from the door, his hands behind his back.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Harleen asked.

He stopped and ran his tongue on the inside of his cheeks. "Would this replace our Monday session?"

"It's gonna be hard to convince Dr. Arkham to let you into my office now, Mr. Joker," she told him. "But...I'll see what I can do...no, this session doesn't count..."

"Then throw away the notebook..." he demanded. "If this session doesn't count, then don't document it..."

Harleen bit her lip and then, after a moment's hesitation, she tossed the notebook down the hallway and put her hands on her hips. "Okay...tell me about the rape..."

He sighed as walked to the door and leaned against it. "Let's see...I was a teenager...never really was a good-looking guy...but, a friend of mine set me up with this dancer...he liked to go to those clubs downtown, you know...wasn't really my thing, but he wanted to buy me some drinks...and a girl..." He paused to clear his throat as Harleen likewise leaned against the door. "Well, when I was waiting in this dancer's room...I had helped myself to more drinks; she had a mini-bar in there...when she came in, I noticed that she was gorgeous...I also noticed the disgusted look on her face when she saw me...

"She tried to run out the door to...voice her objections to my friend, but...I guess the alcohol got to me...and I pulled her inside and locked the door. She tried to scream but I gagged her with a scarf that was on her vanity mirror..."

Harleen held her breath as he continued. "I don't remember too much...but I remember punching her pretty hard in jaw...after that, she was pretty easy to handle...and I knocked her to the floor and had my way with her...when I was done...I took the scarf from her mouth...and gave her kiss before choking her with it." He looked toward his doctor and saw that there was shock in her face. He snickered. "Don't act surprised...I was drunk..."

"So, how is your rape and murder warranted while Tetch's isn't?" she challenged.

He scoffed again. "Because mine wasn't with an eight year old..."

Harleen glared at him as he smirked at her. "You're lying..." she bravely stated.

He now wore his own shocked expression. "I'm what?"

"You're lying to me. You didn't rape anyone."

"How do you know?!" The Joker demanded. "What kind of doctor accuses their patients of lying?"

"A doctor that can smell that kind of bullshit a mile away!" she shouted back. "I believe you probably killed her; there's no doubt that you take pleasure in that...but rape? I don't think you're capable..."

His fist suddenly slammed against the door, making her jump back in shock. His eyes held a deathly glare as he growled, "Should I prove it?"

She caught her breath again and slowly walked closer to him, his breath becoming ragged from frustration as he gripped the bars tightly. Harleen swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and asked, "Did _he_ rape her?"

The Joker's glare turned to that of confusion, but she repeated, "Did _he_...rape her? I read your journal...about your dream...it wasn't a dream, right? Your father...beat you...a lot, too, huh?" He began to take deep breaths as she stepped closer. "Your mother... she couldn't stop him, right? I've heard these stories before, Mr. Joker. The mother tries to intervene...but she gets it worse. I'll bet he gave her worse, didn't he?"

What the hell is she doing? he asked himself. What is this cunt trying to prove?

His eyes were hot as he felt a sensation building up in them, something he hadn't felt in a long time. His doctor stepped closer and whispered, "I know you're not capable of rape, Mr. Joker...because your father _was_. You know your mother suffered in worse ways than you...or did she?"

The Joker's pounding heart skipped when he suddenly felt the soft touch of her fingers as they carefully cupped over his hand that was still gripping one of the bars of the door. Their eyes met and he saw the sadness in hers, as if they were trying to search for the same in his. She moved her face closer and gently whispered, "Your father...did more to you than just hit you...didn't he? Is that why you attacked Tetch?"

He let out a ragged sigh as he looked at his bare feet that were sinking into the cushions of the floor. He put a hand to his eyes as the moistness from them began to drip from them, but he kept his other hand still underneath his doctor's. He was grateful for the darkness of his cell as his tears rolled down his nose, and he let out a loud sniff. When he noticed that his doctor didn't try to comfort him or even move away, he made a small noise that sounded like a mournful groan and he put his forehead against the door.

Harleen couldn't believe it; his first week in the asylum and he was crying! It was definitely a breakthrough, even if it was a small one. She had a feeling that the loneliness of the darkness in The Box would affect him somehow, but she never expected this.

The Joker did his best to stifle his tears, but he didn't want to admit to his doctor that he was actually relieved to see her. He had a hard time trying to convince himself of this notion when he had been awakened by her dropping her pen. He had done nothing but sleep to pass the time, but even sleep brought old memories of his past, a past that he had been trying to deny for a long time. It relieved him to have someone to talk to instead of being left with his own mind in a dark, padded cell.

He also blamed his frailty on the fact that he hadn't eaten anything all day, and he raised his red eyes to his doctor, who gave him a heartfelt smirk. Harleen jumped slightly when his other hand suddenly gripped a bar of the door and he warned, "Don't you...dare...tell anyone..."

Harleen licked her lips as she watched another tear travel down his cheek and get caught by the rough edge of his scar. She replied, softly, "About what...Mr. Joker?"

The Joker smirked at her as she grinned back and drew her hand away from his. The absent feeling on his skin made him sigh, but he straightened up and backed away from the door. "Mr. Joker?" he heard his doctor call after him as he went to the far side of his cell. He put his back to the wall and kept his eyes locked on her as he slid onto the floor. "Mr. Joker?" she asked again. "I'll see what I can do about having sessions in my office from now on. Be patient, though. After what you've done...in group therapy today...it may take some convincing."

He didn't respond to her but continued to stare at her features and in doing so, he noticed that not only was her hair untied, but she wasn't wearing her glasses, too. He smirked.

Harleen noticed this and asked, with a smile of her own, "What's so funny?"

The Joker shook his head as he gazed at her sudden, casual appearance that was an obvious contrary to what he was used to seeing. He also began to wonder how she found out so quickly what had happened in group therapy and why she came to _his_ aid and not to the patient whose head was bandaged as he rested in the infirmary.

"You are, Doc..." he muttered in a tired voice. "You are..."


	16. Promises are Made to be Broken

"You find what you needed, Dr. Quinzel?" Andrew asked as he met Harleen at the security booth as she exited.

"Oh, yes," she replied. "Thank you very much."

"Sorry for callin'," he told her. "I wasn't sure if the date was over or not, but...I just had to tell Richard what happened."

"Oh?" Harleen asked, playing dumb. "What happened?"

Andrew smirked as he walked closer to her car, eager to tell only what he had heard from five different orderlies. "Well, The Joker was in group therapy this morning. Whichever doc he's got is nuts themselves to think that he would be okay doing that..."

Harleen bit her tongue as her ears burned in anger, and she let him continue, "Anyways, suddenly, he just jumps out of his chair and tackles that freaky Hatter guy, and he's grinding the back of the dude's skull into the floor! Don't get me wrong; Tetch should've gotten worse in my opinion, but...no one can really figure out what made the clown do it..."

"Well," Harleen said. "The Joker _is_ a sociopath who's been known to abrupt, violent actions like that. Only his doctor would be able to find out what makes him do these things and, hopefully, make him come to terms with --"

"Whatever, Doctor," Andrew interrupted. "Seems like his doc is just as crazy as he is to let him..."

"I'm sorry, Andrew," Harleen said, bitterly. "I have to go. It's late." Without another word, she sped away from the gates and back to her apartment.

The Joker had kept his place on the floor with his back to the wall, quietly chuckling at the squeaking of his doctor's sneakers as she walked to the elevators and left him alone once again. Before she had left, however, she told him that she would be sure to have a tray of breakfast sent up to him first thing in the morning.

He couldn't understand why she was being so helpful to him. He assumed that she had obviously been concerned about her patient after she had heard what had happened. That's the part he couldn't figure out: how _did_ she find out?

Then, he remembered the conversation between the two security guards. Richard. He was dating Harleen. He had to have told her...

The very memory of that night when the guard was talking about her to his buddies made The Joker's throat tighten, and he sighed as closed his eyes again. He hadn't slept this much in a long time, but if it meant that his promised food would get to his lonely cell faster, then he was more than willing to drift into another slumber.

_Rhonda stood over the stove as she whisked the eggs in the frying pan into a fluffy mound. The bacon was sizzling in a pan beside it and the smell of coffee mingled with the delicious smell of the morning. _

_Carlo was still fast asleep when Jack rose out of bed, the smell of breakfast traveling up the stairs and meeting his nose. He walked first to the window to see Tony running a waxy rag over the hood of his Buick, but paused to look up at the tired pair of boyish eyes looking down at him. He grinned and waved at Jack, the boy returning the gesture as he ruffled his shaggy hair. _

_Jack pulled on Carlo's old robe as he galloped downstairs to meet Rhonda, who was pouring her second cup of coffee. "Oh," she cooed. "Good morning, honey. Sleep well?"_

_The boy merely nodded as he took a seat at the breakfast table, rubbing his hands together. "Please forgive the cold air in here," Rhonda said. "The heater is on the fritz. I hope you were warm enough last night..."_

_"Oh, yes, ma'am," Jack said quietly. "Thank you. The bed was very nice."_

_Rhonda smiled back at him as she turned the bacon. "You're a sweet boy, Jack. I'm sorry for whatever happened to you that put you out on the street."_

_Jack just shrugged, as if it happened to him everyday. "It was...a series of things, I guess, Mrs..."_

_"Rhonda, honey," she corrected with a smile. "No Mrs. in this house. I'm not that old." _

_Jack smiled, too, as Rhonda chuckled. "I hope you're hungry."_

_"Yes, ma'am," the boy answered eagerly as she brought him a tall glass of cold orange juice. She stepped a bit out of the kitchen and called up the stairs. "Carlito! Time to get up!"_

_Tony came into the kitchen, wiping his hands with a moist toilette. He saw Jack and smiled down at him. "Mornin', kiddo. Sleep okay?"_

_The boy nodded as Carlo bounded down the stairs, his hair disheveled from sleep. Rhonda stopped him and pushed him back up toward his room. "Carlo! Go put on some pants! We got company!"_

_"Ma! Come on!" Carlo sleepily yelled back. "He's a guy, too! I'm just in my boxers!"_

_"That don't matter! Manners, boy! Besides, you gotta get ready. Mass is in an hour..."_

_Jack nearly choked on his juice and Tony looked down at him, and the boy looked up at him with pleading eyes._

_Tony couldn't understand at first why the teen would be nervous at the mention of Sunday Mass after finding the Rosary in his jeans. However, upon thinking of the trauma he no doubt went through, he concluded that placing him in a crowd of eyes was the last thing the boy needed. _

_Tony reached into his slacks pocket and carefully slipped Jack his set of Rosary beads. Jack looked at him, almost terrified, but Tony grinned, saying, "It's okay, kiddo. Maybe a little later, huh?"_

_Jack understood and nodded, quickly placing the beads over his neck and tying his robe tighter to conceal them, and soon turned his attention to the heaping plate of eggs, bacon and toast that Rhonda was setting in front him._

Sly threw open the heavy door of The Box and startled The Joker out of his deep sleep. He was balancing a tray in his right hand and slowly stepping inside. Before she had left, Harleen spotted the orderly once again and asked him to bring a proper breakfast to her patient.

"Please, Sly," she said. "I know what goes on up there on the sixth floor. Sometimes these patients aren't fed, but The Joker needs to eat or I won't be able to get him to talk."

He had simply shrugged, saying, "Sure thing, Dr. Quinzel, but --"

"No 'buts,' Sly," she rebutted. "If Dr. Arkham gives you any trouble about it, just send him to me." With that, she had trotted out the door into the back parking lot.

The Joker sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. "You know," he began. "An alarm clock works so much better than a slamming door."

Sly rolled his eyes as he set the tray onto the floor, slightly spilling the side of oatmeal over the edge of its bowl. He turned and walked out of the cell and The Joker called after him, "Well...good morning to you, too..." The door slamming was the response he received, but he just sniffed and lazily crawled over to his breakfast. There sat a small scoop of instant eggs, rigid bacon, and the medium bowl of oatmeal, something he never knew was an option in this sinkhole.

He opened one of the cartons of chocolate milk and spooned greedy portions of oatmeal into his mouth. His stomach suddenly awakened and quaked momentarily at the sudden appearance of food. He grunted but continued to eat. He hadn't eaten anything since his breakfast the day before and, even though the bacon was harder than usual, he crunched on it between sips of milk.

Meanwhile, Harleen had gotten up early and logged onto her computer to type notes of what had transpired between her and The Joker. She had thought it over upon awakening from a troubled sleep and although she had promised to not document their discussion in any way, she felt that she had to for her sake.

She didn't understand her reasoning behind that notion and she felt a tinge of regret as she typed his story onto her laptop. It wasn't exactly verbatim, but she had decided that it would suffice. Her regret made her mouth dry and she paused to take small sips of her coffee.

Harleen sighed as she said to herself, "I mean...it isn't like I'm going to tell Dr. Arkham about it. I just...want to make note of it...for myself."

It was hard to convince her conscience away from the deception she was using against her patient, but she sneered and took another sip of coffee before resuming her typing.

Her cell phone chimed and she answered it, "Yes?"

"Well, good morning, Princess," came Richard's tired voice. He sounded as if he were still stretched out in bed, no doubt thinking of what could have occurred last night if he hadn't decided to be so chivalric.

"Oh, hey," she said absentmindedly. "What's up?"

Richard frowned. "Well...you don't sound too happy to hear my voice?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I'm just...typing some notes," Harleen explained. "It's just...I'm trying to remember the details, you know..."

"Yeah," said Richard. "Well, just...make something up...they're all crazy anyway; it's not like it would matter."

Harleen rolled her eyes. He didn't understand.

"I can't do that," she said. "The patient-doctor relationship is fragile. One misstep like this could ruin his trust."

"His? So, it's a _guy_?"

Harleen chuckled. "You know I have guy patients, too, Rich. Don't worry, though; I'm not interested...not in that way."

"Then, in what way?"

Harleen ceased her frantic typing and just stared blankly at her monitor. Why was she so interested in The Joker? It wasn't just because of his supposed fame and obvious bedlam, but there was something else...something she couldn't quite grasp.

"I don't know," she answered quietly. "It's complex...like putting together a puzzle or...untying a knot. You have to really study him to get to know him...and that's what I intend to do."

Richard was quiet on the other end of the call and he sighed, "Strange...you've never been this way with your other patients."

"Well, he's a special case," Harleen said, almost through gritted teeth.

"What's he like, then? What's his problem?"

She began to get a bit frustrated at his sudden interrogation. "I can't discuss that, Richard. I told you; it's about trust."

"But you've told me the problems of all your other patients," he pointed out. "What the hell difference does it make if you tell me about his?"

"It just does, okay!" she snapped at him.

"Don't get so defensive."

"Well, I can't help that when my own boyfriend is trying to pry into my patient's business!"

Richard sighed with a groan. "Then what the hell do you think you do for a living?"

"I have a PhD to do this, Rich. You're just a Rent-a-Cop!"

There was a tense pause, but Harleen resumed her typing as Richard retorted, "Seems like this _guy _patientis more than just a case study to you, Princess..."

"Don't call me 'Princess!'" she yelled and flipped her cell phone shut. She chucked it behind her onto her bed and it landed with a soft thud.

She could care less now where their relationship went at that point. If he wanted to make things work, then she needed her space. However, she knew that Richard could be persistent and she groaned to herself as she sipped her coffee.

"God..." she muttered. "Why am I with him? I didn't want this in the first place..."

Harleen shut her eyes tight and rubbed her temples. After a few seconds, though, her eyes opened again and she logged onto the Internet to use a search engine as she suddenly remembered another thing she discovered about The Joker.

She slowly looked over the search results and found a link that looked suitable. "Hmm," she mused as she read out loud to herself. "Hail Mary...an essential element when using the Rosary...prayer method among Latin Rite Catholics...also used as a lone prayer to invoke the help of the Virgin Mary and to...implore her assistance in times of desperation..."

She let out the breath that she just realized was resting in her throat and she read the text of the prayer over and over until she stopped to look at the clock by her bed. "Dammit," she cursed as she quickly saved her document and changed for her Yoga class.

However, she knew that she wouldn't be able to keep in time with her classmates as they did their asanas, as her thoughts would stray away from the calming acoustics of the music to the sudden realization that she had broken her promise to her patient.

**Monday**

"You can't be serious..." Dr. Arkham stated as his young employee sat in front of his desk in a calm manner, her legs carefully crossed and her hands neatly folded in her lap.

"You heard me correctly, Doctor," she quietly replied, adjusting the glasses on her nose. "I would like to move The Joker's sessions to my office from now on. I feel that a change of scenery is due for him. He's progressed in our talks and --"

"Progressed?!" Dr. Leland asked as she sat beside Harleen. "Do you call putting a fellow patient in the infirmary 'progression?' I'd hate to see what you define as a cure!"

"Joan, please," Dr. Arkham butted in, clearing his throat before turning his attention back to Harleen. "Dr. Quinzel, I understand that your methods are somewhat different, but I know that they are anything but foolish. What you are suggesting is suicide!"

"He would be keeping the handcuffs on," Harleen assured her boss. "I think he's ready to move on to the next step in his recovery."

"If you ask me," Dr. Leland said. "I think you're moving a bit too fast."

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't ask you, is it, Joan?"

"How dare you! Jeremiah!"

Dr. Arkham suddenly stood up and opened his office door. "Joan, leave us. I need to talk to Dr. Quinzel alone, please."

Dr. Leland stood, too, in a surprised huff. "Jeremiah, you can't be --"

"Now, Joan!" he demanded.

Dr. Leland quickly gave a vehement glance at Harleen, whose face held a smug expression and she smirked at her lap as her fellow doctor stomped out of the office and down the hall.

"Harleen," he looked down at her. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? This is a big risk."

His young doctor stood and faced him, her hands on her hips. "It's going to be alright. He...trusts me."

"Do you trust him?" Dr. Arkham asked.

Harleen thought about the last sessions they had; he had been very cooperative, and even when The Joker was sick in his cell and they were alone, he hadn't laid a hand on her. Although, she knew she would have to be careful. He had a very short temper judging from their second session when he grabbed her wrist and just last night when he rammed his fist into his cell door.

She swept a lock of blonde hair out of her face and behind her ear. "I trust him...to talk to me. And he will." When she saw Dr. Arkham's hesitation, she stepped closer, saying, "Please, Doctor. If you want me to help you and the Commissioner...I need to talk to The Joker...he needs to be in my office...where he's comfortable and not surrounded by concrete walls for once."

Dr. Arkham sighed. "Fine...I'll have a warder stand by the door --"

"No!" Harleen interrupted. "There can be a warder...but not near the door...have him down the hall, at the entrance of the offices."

"Are you...?" He stopped when he saw that she wasn't, and he nodded. "Okay. This afternoon, when you return from lunch, I'll have Bobby bring him to your office. I'll have him stand by the door...until you get back, of course."

Harleen smiled and said, "Thank you, Dr. Arkham. You won't be disappointed. I promise..."

She started to leave his office, but her boss grabbed her elbow and their eyes met. "Don't make it a habit of making dangerous promises, Dr. Quinzel."

She only blinked at him, set her mouth sternly and stepped into the hallway, only hastening her pace when she stepped out of the building and trotted to her car to drive to her rendezvous with Antonio.


	17. To Help an Animal Loosed

_"Jack! Come downstairs, honey. We're leaving soon," Rhonda shouted up the stairs at the boy who was rushing to pull on his tattered black jeans. The now eighteen year old young man had grown his hair almost to his shoulders, much against the wishes of his adoptive mother, but at least he kept it neat and combed. He pulled on his purple flannel shirt and bounded down the stairs, practically hopping into his sneakers._

_"I'm comin', Ma!" he called out as he tried to lace his shoes at the bottom step._

_"Again with those jeans," Rhonda pointed out, as she always did. "You have more clothes, babe. You need to have some variety."_

_"These are comfortable," Jack said quietly. "It's just a party."_

_"It's Carlo's twenty-first," she said. "This is a big day for him. He's almost done at the community college and soon he'll be going off to business school in Metropolis."_

_Jack rolled his eyes. He never understood the hype of Metropolis, but Carlo had been wanting to move out of Gotham to a more glamorous city. "I know, Ma, but..." he said. "Why should I dress nice if there's gonna be nothing but hard partying and drinking? It's not like you have to wear a tux...Jesus..."_

_Rhonda pulled his ear as he stood up and he yelped. She waved a scolding finger in his face. "Don't use the Baby Jesus' name in vain."_

_"Okay, okay...sorry," he said, rubbing his ear._

_Rhonda stepped toward the front door but stopped at the fount of Holy Water, dipping her fingers and crossing herself as she always did upon leaving and entering the house. Jack only stopped and stared at it, then completely bypassed it._

_"And as far as drinking goes --" Rhonda continued._

_"Ma," Jack interrupted. "I can't even have champagne?"_

_"Oh, I don't know. Is there alcohol in champagne?" she asked sarcastically._

_Jack caught it and sighed in annoyance. "Yes..."_

_"Then, no, mister," she said, firmly. "Now, come on. Tony's already there. And don't worry; it's just gonna be family."_

_Jack sat in the front seat next to her and rubbed his scarred cheeks as the car pulled away from the house._

Antonio stood in front of the hyena pit, the beasts comfortably resting on the rocks as the afternoon sun beat down on them. He lit a cigarette to pass the time as he waited for Dr. Quinzel and he turned away from the hyenas and looked across the path at the giraffe field.

He smiled to himself when one them looked right at him, its wide, black eyes staring at him with an innocent glare. He remembered how much his wife love these animals and how she had one corner of their den decorated with figures of them, wooden, gold, crystal and even a few plush versions. He never could see her interest in them, even when she tried to tell him that they had a "unique grace about them."

Antonio could feel the wetness begin to build in his eyes and he quickly turned away from the giraffes to read the hyena placard for the third time.

Soon, he heard the distinctive high heels of his visitor and he turned to Harleen, who grinned at him as he snuffed out his cigarette under his shoe. They shook hands and Antonio motioned toward a small concession stand where a few benches sat. "Coffee?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, please," she answered.

After she had settled on the bench and readied her pen and notepad, Antonio brought over their coffees. "I had forgotten how good this coffee smelled," he casually pointed out.

"I take it you used to come here," Harleen said.

He nodded. "Oh, yeah, but it was ages ago...when my boys were little." They sat in silence for a moment and then Antonio took a slow sip of coffee. He then looked at Harleen and said, "I, uh...I guess I need to start."

"Yes, please..." Harleen urged. "How long has The Joker been...an investor?"

Antonio sighed. "Not long...he just suddenly appeared out of nowhere...happened to come in one night and...order the manicotti...that's when our waiter, Leo, came into the kitchen and told us who our guest was. He scared away everyone else. When I went into the dining room to see for myself...my heart nearly gave out."

Harleen was frantically writing on her notepad, but stopped and said, "So, you're saying he just casually stopped in? Do you think it was...random...that he picked your restaurant?"

"I don't know," Antonio said. Harleen looked up from her notes as he sipped his coffee again. "He, uh...he wanted to make sure that...we'd be able to provide him with food...if he ever needed it...it was like doing him a favor...and in return he would protect us from the other families."

"Are you...part of a Family, Tony?" Harleen bravely asked.

"Absolutely not!" he answered. "After all, it was the Azarellos who...gunned down my wife." He rubbed his hands again and continued, "She wasn't a target, but those no-good...punks...didn't hesitate to continue firing as they sped down our street. See, some of Carmine Falcone's guys lived down our street. It was no new thing that the Azarello family had it out for anyone having to do with the Falcones. And...well, I'm getting side-tracked. The point is: The Joker has kept these guys away from my restaurant and away from the rest of my family for about nine months."

Harleen set down her pen to take a sip of her own coffee, which was slowly growing cold. "Did he come by often?"

"At first," he said. "But then, it was occasional...but he always ordered the same thing."

"Hmm," she mused at him. "When he...stopped visiting as often...was there anything...'off' about him?" Antonio quickly looked up at her and she corrected herself. "Besides the obvious, I mean," she chuckled.

Antonio cracked a smile and nodded. "Somewhat...usually he would bring his other...clowns, I guess in with him and they would drink and cause a fuss. Sometimes bring in a few girls they had gotten from a club. Well, the girls weren't too interested in The Joker...and he felt likewise. When he was done eating, he would just take a bottle of wine and go sit in a corner on his own...watching everyone.

"Then, one night...actually a few nights before Batman took him into Arkham...he came in --"

"With the usual gang of misfits?" Harleen asked.

"No, Doctor," Antonio said. "That was just it. He was alone. It was strange...even for him. He came in and I was sitting at my spot at the front door. He didn't even hang up his coat like he usually did...he just glared at me and then took his usual seat, took his usual meal...but no wine...just water...that was even weirder."

Harleen was gulping her coffee now, rapt with fascination by the old man's story. She paused and asked, "Did he say anything?"

Antonio shook his head. "He never talked while he ate. But...when he finished...he leaned back in his chair...and just sat there quietly, like he was thinking. He didn't smile, he didn't do anything. After a few minutes, I went over to him to offer him more water and he suddenly stood up..."

"Then what?" she asked, gripping her now empty cup of coffee.

He sighed. "Before you got here, Doctor...I was debating to myself whether or not I should share this with you...but if it will help you better understand him...and if you think you can cure him...then I guess you need to know."

Harleen's wide, blue eyes stared at the old man as he continued, "He took the pitcher of water from my hands, set it on the table...and he offered me his hand. I was a bit confused...he never acted very friendly...but, as a respect to him and his _very _kind patronage, I took it and we shook. Then, he said, very quietly, 'Thanks, old man.'"

"He thanked you?" Harleen asked, surprised.

"Certainly threw me for a loop, too, Doctor," Antonio said with a chuckle. "But yeah...he thanked me...then...he reached into his pocket and...gave me..." He paused and swallowed hard.

"What?" Harleen said in anticipation. When the old man looked at her apprehensively, she sighed. "Tony! What did he give you?"

Antonio sighed and reached into his pocket and, before he set it on the table, he continued, "He gave this to me and...told me...that he didn't need it anymore...had held onto it just in case he did...but, he was certain that its purpose was...obsolete to someone like him now."

"What was it?" she asked, anxiously.

The old man swallowed hard again as he placed a set of worn purple Rosary beads between them on the table.

Harleen leaned back, her lips parted and her breath caught in her throat. She dropped her pen onto the table and brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh my God..." she whispered. "Oh, wow...this is...wow!" she said laughing quietly.

"What's funny, Doctor?" Antonio asked, confused.

Harleen took a breath and said, "Oh, no, nothing's funny...well, I guess in a way, it is. I mean...just the other day, I went to see him and he was fast asleep...muttering the Hail Mary over and over to himself...in his sleep...then you show me these...you mean he had these the entire time?"

Antonio's heart suddenly started to pound in his ears when he realized his mistake. "I, uh...I guess, Doctor...I don't..."

"It's just so weird...I looked up what this prayer is for..."

"I know what the Hail Mary is, Doctor," Antonio said, rather unnervingly. "I'm Catholic."

"Yeah, but...to have someone like The Joker say it in his sleep..." Harleen started to write on her notepad again, grinning to herself at this discovery. "Oh," she said, spying the beads still laying in front of her. "Could I...keep these? I mean, for his case docket..."

"Sure," Antonio said. "Go ahead..."

"Thanks," she said, still writing. "Man...this is great. Had he ever displayed anything like that before?"

"Like what?"

"Well, like...prayers...religious talk...anything like that?"

Antonio casually shrugged. "Not for a few years..." He suddenly looked up at her, shocked at what he just said.

Harleen noticed this. "Wait...years? I thought you said he had been visiting you for nine months..."

The old man wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks and suddenly lifted himself off the bench. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but...I have to go. I gotta get back to the restaurant."

Harleen quickly packed her notepad and the beads and trotted after Antonio as he hurried back over to the hyena pit. "Hey! Tony! Wait!"

He stopped in front of the pit to catch his breath, Harleen placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You said you would help me..." she reminded him.

"I know, Dr. Quinzel..." he panted. "But...there are things...I shouldn't be saying...things that are bound to run me outta business...or even outta town..."

"What things?"

"The Rosary, for one!" he exclaimed. "Oh, God. I didn't want to show you, but...someone else needed to know...needed to see...we tried to help him a long time ago, and...we thought it was hopeless...then you came to _me _for help...just like he did..."

"What?" Harleen asked softly.

"When I found out you were his doctor...I felt there was some little bit of hope left in this world...to help him...to do for him what my wife and I couldn't..."

"He knew your wife? But...I thought she died years ago...how would he know your wife if he..." Harleen suddenly realized and came closer to the old man. "You've known him longer, haven't you? The Joker just didn't appear at some random restaurant, did he? He knew you!"

"Shh!" Antonio demanded. "Please...not here. If you want to know more...it will have to be indoors...but after that...we can't meet anymore..."

"Tony!" Harleen began to demand.

"Please! Just one last meeting...come to the restaurant one evening and I'll tell you everything..."

"When?" Harleen asked.

Antonio brought a white handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his brow. "I don't know..."

"What?!" Harleen shouted, angrily.

"Doctor, please!" the old man pleaded. "I'll call you, but...it can't be any time soon. In a few weeks, maybe..."

Harleen was about to protest again, but sighed as he suddenly shook her hand and bid her farewell. "I'll call you, Doctor; I promise." He limped away to the zoo's entrance as Harleen watched him, her notepad clutched to her chest.

"Promise..." she muttered doubtfully to herself.

Her attention was suddenly drawn to that of the animal pit in front of her and, as she turned to face the hyenas, she heard their short, grunting chuckles echo out to her as she clutched the Rosary tightly in her right hand.


	18. A Comfortable Position

**Hi, my faithful readers! I hope you don't think I've abandoned you! Okay, the two weeks break from this fic became a month. I hope you guys are still with me. Haha! Sorry about this. This chappie is just a little teaser to let you know that I'm still around and have not forgotten this fic! My hubby and I are in the process of moving so it may be another month, but please stay tuned! It's going to get VERY interesting after this chapter...oh! And yes! This story will eventually have a Part Two! XD Enjoy and please comment!**

**That afternoon **

Sly gripped The Joker by an elbow as he was escorted from the elevator down the hallway to Dr. Quinzel's office. Some of the interns stopped their work and gawked at this new sight as he hobbled past them, wrists cuffed behind his back, and he just blinked heavily at them. He hadn't slept well that weekend in The Box and even though he could barely keep his eyelids open, he was excited that he was finally being granted the simple request he had been asking about since he was admitted.

The orderly stopped at the door, seeing that it was closed due to the doctor's late lunch. The Joker licked his lips with slight impatience, not at the fact that she was tardy for their own session, but that he had to wait with the clumsy gorilla that was still latched to him.

He was saved, however, when he heard the familiar clicking of her high heels that was accompanied by the jingling of her keys as she took them from her purse.

"Sorry about that, Sly," she muttered. "My lunch meeting ran a bit late..."

"No, problem, Doc," he said.

Harleen quickly glanced at her patient as he stood in silence and she could feel his cold eyes on her as she fumbled to unlock her office while she balanced a coffee in her other hand. When she finally opened the door, she stepped inside and The Joker was led after her, being firmly seated onto her brown leather couch as she settled behind her desk. "Thanks, Sly," she said. "That will be all."

Sly hesitantly stood by the door. "Dr. Quinzel, are you sure? I'll be right outside if he-"

"You will be precisely three doors down," she said, firmly as she put on her white coat and adjusted her glasses. "That was the agreement between me and Dr. Arkham. If you have a problem, go take it up with him."

Sly was taken aback, but just nodded and he exited the office, giving The Joker a threatening glare before he closed the door.

The Joker grinned as he looked from the closed door to his slightly flustered doctor as she sighed heavily and took a sip of her afternoon coffee. He cocked his head and declared, sarcastically, "Hello, Sunshine."

Harleen gently set down her coffee and giggled in her usual fashion at his snarky comments, and she opened her valise to take out her notebook and his file. In doing so, she spied the Rosary Beads and quickly stuffed them deeper into her bag, turning toward him, her pen ready. "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Joker," she told him.

He shrugged. "No worries. As long as I'm in here, my schedule is pretty open." He lazily looked around and realized how small her office was, and he squinted at the row of books on her equally small bookshelf. "Not what I pictured..." he muttered.

Harleen looked and said, "The size of my office...or the fact that the blonde has books?'

The Joker quickly turned a surprised expression back to his doctor. "My, my..." he said. "Someone got up on the wrong side of futon this morning..."

"What makes you think I own a futon?" Harleen asked, trying not to laugh.

"Does that offend you? What's wrong with futons?" He could see her biting her lip and giving him a look that was just as confused as his and he shook his head quickly and cleared his throat.

"Are you okay, Mr. Joker?" she asked him as she started to jot down certain notes on his behavior.

He looked at his white slippers and casually slid out his right foot, wriggling his toes absentmindedly. "Mr. Joker?" she repeated and his head lifted and she looked into his tired eyes. "You didn't sleep well last night, I take it."

He sniffed and shook his head again. "No, no...not at all, Doc." He hooked his big toe over the toe next to it and clenched it, making it crack loudly.

The sound echoed in the small room and a chill ran down Harleen's spine as she asked, "Why not?"

The Joker snickered. "You ever slept on a padded floor? It may sound comfy, doll face, but-"

"Dr. Quinzel..."

His eyes seemed to suddenly grow darker at this sudden correction, but he licked the corners of his mouth and said, "_Doc_...as I was saying...that floor was still padded on top of a cold slab of concrete...reminds me of a coffin...so, no...I was not very comfortable..."

"Hm...physically or mentally?"

"Both," he said, welcoming her challenging question. "It's bad on the back as well as the pysche...or whatever bullshit you want to draw from your textbooks."

Harleen smirked. "And...what was that you were saying about the wrong side of the futon?"

He groaned as he leaned to the side and rested his head on the arm of her couch. "I'd kill for a futon right now..."

"Well, maybe we can deal with that in another session..." She paused when he chuckled at this and she smiled, "I'd like to talk about-" She looked at his awkward position as he closed his eyes. "That can't be comfortable."

The Joker sighed. "Better than the floor..." He tried to shuffle onto his back but grunted when he found that the cuffed wrists were preventing him a decent position. "Dammit..." he murmured to himself.

She watched him move with growing frustration until she asked, "Mr. Joker? If I had Sly fix it to where those cuffs wouldn't infringe on your comfort...will you be cooperative in our session?"

He stopped his struggling as he slowly looked at her, but then took a deep breath and nodded. "I've been a good boy so far, haven't I?" he asked.

Harleen quickly shot up from her desk and trotted to the door. As she opened is, The Joker could smell her fragrance: was that lavender? He closed his eyes as he took in deep breaths, but soon the smell of sweat and cheap cologne flooded his nose as Sly helped him sit up. Soon, his wrists were quickly brought around in front of him, but the cuffs' cold sting was once again slapped onto his skin.

As soon as Sly left the room, The Joker groaned a relieved sigh as he now successfully achieved a relaxing position. His eyes remained closed as he heard the door shut, but they shot open again when he heard a squeaking sound. He looked and saw that his doctor had brought her chair around to the side of her desk, allowing her to be a bit closer and for him to look at her as she now sat near the end of the couch where his feet were propped.

Their eyes locked for a quiet moment and she gave him a genuine smile. "Better?" she asked, softly.

He quickly scanned her fishnet legs and then glimpsed at the bright red blouse that beamed under her pristine white coat. When his eyes fell upon the matching stilettos, he grinned as he brought his eyes back to her. "Oh, yes...much better," he growled.


	19. A Little SideStep

Harleen nervously chewed on the end of her pen as she watched The Joker's eyes travel away from her and instead glare at the ceiling. She stared at the blank page of her notepad that sat in her lap, and her throat suddenly tightened as she started to speak. "Okay then," she began. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk about...why you attacked Jervis Tetch."

The Joker clicked his tongue against his teeth and sighed as he closed his eyes. Harleen obviously sensed his irritation, but continued, "What made you -"

He opened his eyes and cut her off, growling, "Besides the fact that he's an annoying little twit with bucked teeth?"

"Besides that, yes," Harleen told him, grinning. There was a tense pause between them and she decided to break it. "Was it his outlandish behavior? His haughtiness...his history of pedophilia?"

The Joker's body suddenly bolted upright, startling her and making her jump slightly, and when he turned and put his feet on the floor, she shot up from her chair, pointing a finger at him and letting her Steno pad fall from her lap. "Mr. Joker!" she said, firmly.

He looked up at her with an unfazed glare as she continued, rather hesitantly, "Do you see that yellow line in front of you?"

He raised an eyebrow as he looked down and found that there was indeed a yellow line that circled around the couch and the very tips of his slippers were about an inch away from it. He looked up at her again. "I do..." he answered in a low purr.

Chills threatened to descend from Harleen's neck down to her spine but she shook it off and warned, "If you so much as place a big toe past it...I push the Panic button under my desk and-"

"And I get put in time-out again?" The Joker asked, sarcastically, chuckling at the thought of her rushing to a button when he knew that he could be faster.

Harleen pursed her lips and replied, almost smugly, "And you lose your couch privileges..."

His smile faded as he folded his hands in his lap and sat still. When she saw that he could comply, she slowly sat back in her chair and picked up her pad.

The Joker sniffed and licked the corners of his mouth, saying, "You, uh...are quite jumpy today, Doc. I kinda find that unusual."

She took a deep breath and readied her pen again. She heard him also take a breath and say, "Since when have you been afraid of me..._Harleen_?"

The growling emphasis of her name made the chill in her neck return. "_Doctor_ Quinzel...Mr. Joker...and I'm just being cautious. Can you really blame me?"

The Joker looked into her blue eyes as they gazed at him and he could see that she was telling the truth, but he wondered what made her so uneasy all of a sudden. He then realized that, besides when he was sick in his cell that one night, this was the closest they had ever been...and this was also the first time they were really alone.

He resumed his reclining position on her couch and rested his cuffed hands on his stomach. Harleen sighed softly, relieved that he appeared to understand her uneasiness. "Well, then...what did Tetch say to make you grind his head into the floor, Mr. Joker?"

"He was never your patient, I take it," he pointed out as he continued to gaze at her.

She shook her head. "No, but a colleague of mine was his doctor...she transferred to Gotham University as an assistant professor after he attacked her."

"That little twerp attacked someone?" The Joker asked, genuinely surprised, but amused nonetheless.

"Well, maybe attack isn't the right word," Harleen said as she absentmindedly drew a circle over and over in the margin of her notepad. "More like...put poison in her tea and put her in the hospital." She saw the slight raise in the corner of The Joker's mouth, making her do the same. "I know...but he became obsessed with her."

"I find that hard to believe..." he muttered.

"Her name was Alice."

The Joker took a deep breath. "Oh, I get it now..." He paused and rubbed his left eye, still tired from lack of sleep over the weekend. "I really didn't like what he was talking about, Doc. He was...very hypocritical."

Harleen tilted her head and began to jot down notes as he spoke. "Do you mind explaining what you mean?"

"I mean," he said as he shifted cautiously onto his side, not wanting to cause another abrupt stir from her. "He was remorseful about what he did and then the next moment...he raved about it...he completely changed his whole attitude about the acts he committed..."

"Do you find that offensive, Mr. Joker?" Harleen asked.

He sighed. "Do you mind explaining what _you_ mean, Doc?"

She grinned at him. "Well, you never seem remorseful. So, would I be wrong in assuming that Tetch's...indecisive motives...offend you? For example, you don't regret burning money...or blowing up a hospital, or..." She paused and swallowed hard before saying, "Blowing up Harvey Dent's fiancé."

He only chuckled in response to her inane question, but Harleen didn't let it faze her. She sat up straighter and said, "I think it irks you, Mr. Joker, when another inmate is able to express real human emotions."

The Joker squinted at her. "Who says that I'm not human, Doc? I display real human emotions...but regret is not one of them."

"So you don't regret the things you've done," she stated, simply. "We already knew that."

"And I'm not going to regret the things I will do in the near future."

"Of course not." She became silent as she heard her patient's breath move to a slow rhythm. She then sighed and shrugged, "According to Dr. Crane, you seemed alright until the topic of pedophilia came up..."

The Joker didn't hesitate in sitting up abruptly this time. "Who asked _him_?" he growled.

"I did. I saw him before lunch," she answered, firmly. "Do you really think I was just going to rely on your statement alone?"

"Well, you are my doctor..." he declared, slightly irritated.

"I am, Mr. Joker, but I can't base my treatment on just the things you say. I wasn't here this weekend; I didn't get to witness what happened. Dr. Crane did, however..."

"Why do you still call him that?" he asked. "He isn't a doctor anymore, clearly...so why would you-?"

"He still has a PhD, Mr. Joker. In fact, if I had gone through school and not taken a medical position like this or any other, I would still be 'Doctor.'"

"Ah, but you're too clever to waste anything that a piece of paper might say about what you can do...because that's really all that PhD is, you know. Paper and ink."

Harleen shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but kept her eyes on her patient. "As I was saying, Dr. Crane was kind enough to cooperate and he did say that you were quite adamant on making Tetch confess as to how old his victims were. He also pointed out how angry you were when Tetch finally -"

"How did the art classes work out for you?" The Joker suddenly chimed in with a smile.

Harleen was taken off guard. "Excuse me?" she asked, becoming slightly irritated herself.

"You said you loved your art classes in high school," he reminded her. "Did that ever go anywhere?"

She sighed softly, suddenly remembering their agreement. Harleen at first rubbed her temple and then looked at him, his dark eyes drilling her. "No..." she whispered. "No, it didn't...I tried to make it a hobby, but...I found something else..."

He smirked slyly at her. "Boys?" he leered.

Harleen glared back at him. "No..."

"Then...what?"

"I would like to get back on track here, please," she told him, her voice growing tighter in her throat.

"Yeah, but...I find you much more interesting, Doc. You already know what I've done up to now...I wanna know you...not Doctor Quinzel, but..._Harleen_..."

"Don't call me that..." she said firmly.

"Why not? That's your name..." He grinned at her, knowing that his evasiveness from her potential questions was wearing her down. She also looked tired, but what puzzled him even more was that she appeared more cautious than ever. His doctor's temperament was one of preoccupation, as well, and he knew he could use this distraction to his advantage.

He wanted _her_ to speak.

"You will address me...as Doctor..." The Joker's loud chuckling echoed in her small office as she began to notice that her patience was wearing thin today. She usually could pull it together and stay calm, but after her meeting with Antonio and what she had learned about her patient, she wanted to tell him that she found out that he wasn't like the Mob after all. He was linked to a family and she believed that his protection of Antonio and his business wasn't just for a comfortable gain, but was also deeply personal.

She was very tempted to show him the beads that were at the bottom of her valise, but she instead gripped her Steno pad in her lap as his chuckling died down.

The Joker couldn't help but continue to side-step her questioning. "I think we need to bring the 'name' issue up again. So what if we bypass the professionalism? I mean...just think of me as...an equal."

Harleen scoffed, "An equal?"

"It can be a first name basis. Why don't I call you Harleen...?"

"Mr. Joker..."

"Oh! How about nicknames? You can call me Jay." he suggested, laughing to himself as he saw his doctor's aggravated expression. "No? How 'bout Mister J?" He smiled as he leaned toward her, careful to not let even the tip of his nose cross the forbidden yellow line. "Puddin'?"

Harleen saw that she would have to grab the reins from her patient before the discussion became worse, and if it resulted in his refusal to talk or even a blind rage, then so be it.

Her meek voice suddenly declared, "Did your father molest you?"

The Joker's eyes grew wide as he stared back at her, and she nervously bit her lip as her breathing stopped in her throat. Her ears began to burn with fear; she knew she was taking a risk by her hasty questioning, but she felt she had nothing to lose if he appeared that he wasn't going to cooperate with her today anyway.

He didn't answer her as his heart raced in his chest. The Joker was never one to be caught off guard, but it made him uncomfortable in realizing that he had no answer for her...only anger. The feeling was so strong that he wasn't sure how to display it to her. He knew the direction in which she was trying to take with her asking about Tetch, and he had tried to lure her away to another topic or at least upset her to the point that she had no choice but to let him lead.

He wasn't lying when he had told her that she was clever.

The Joker let his eyes droop to floor and his head followed suit, and he clasped his hands together and gripped his fingers tightly as he took a deep breath. Harleen watched as he let it out slowly and her bottom lip dropped as she saw that he soon shut his eyes and brought his gripped hands to his forehead.

Harleen slowly stood up and gazed down at her patient. Her ragged breathing soon matched his, and when she set her Steno pad onto her chair and cautiously stepped toward the yellow line, she couldn't help but compare his silent pose to that of someone fervently praying.

She knew that her next action could result in deadly consequences, but upon remembering the incident that had happened between them in his cell, Harleen confidently took a step over the yellow line and quietly sat on the far end of the couch near The Joker.

They were silent for a moment until Harleen said, gently, "It's okay...whatever you tell me won't go past my office door...I promise you." He let his hands fall away from his face and she saw a solitary tear drip off the tip of his nose.

A lump climbed into her throat. This was the second time he had cried in front of her, and although a result like this from just a week shocked her, Harleen was excited and relieved as it appeared that she had a chance at reaching him.

So she remained calm as more of The Joker's tears slowly dripped down his scarred cheeks. His breathing was becoming shallow and she could tell that his tears were a surprise to him as well, and she suddenly reached out to him and rubbed the palm of her hand up and down his back. Harleen realized her unconscious action but didn't pull away.

The Joker opened his eyes as he reveled in the small hand that was stroking his spine, and he finally took a deep breath and grinned as the smell of lavender flooded his nose.

He sniffed and wiped his eyes, saying, "Nothing...I say...or do...will leave this room."

Harleen knew that he wasn't asking. He needed to demand it and she was more than willing to comply in order to get him to open up and for her to discover why he was always so quick to weakness at the mention of his father.

She looked at her hand on his back and pulled it away, making him jerk his face to her, saying, "Hey..."

They gazed into each other's eyes and Harleen could see the pitiful redness that surrounded his dark orbs. "Yes?"

He just glared into her baby blue eyes and saw that her hand was still hovering over his shoulder. He sighed as he turned away from her and looked at his slippers. "I don't know...where to start, Doc..."

She grinned. "The beginning is always a good place."

He snickered, but shook his head. "I don't think I can right now..."

Harleen feared that she was losing him. "Why not, Mr. Joker?"

He turned his tired eyes back to her and said, "My shoulder itches." He hitched up his right shoulder, saying, "Right there..."

Harleen couldn't help but giggle as she soothed his plight, making his eyes roll back and calming him. "Now, Mr. Joker," she urged him. "Tell me..."

He looked down at his slippers again and took a deep breath. "I was six years old..."


	20. A Healing Touch

_"Jack..." the little boy's mother said softly to him as he raised his eyes from his building blocks. Their sad gazes met as her husband crept behind her, raising a cold palm to the back of her neck and roughly caressing it. She was startled slightly, but said in a shaky voice, "Please...go to your room. Will you do that for Mama?"_

_Little Jack's eyes now traveled to his father's bloodshot ones as the sound of his rough thumb massaged the back of the woman's neck, making a whimper escape her lips. Jack slowly nodded and trotted to his room, knowing well what was about to happen to his mother. _

_He never actually witnessed what his father did to her, but he could her whispered pleas that were accompanied by loud, aggressive grunts with the occasional creak of the sofa. Jack would just sit quietly by his door, listening as he stared out of the window into the night sky._

Harleen watched her patient closely as he stared at his slippers, her breath holding steady in her throat as she waited for him to continue. She had picked up her Steno pad from the floor and gripped the pen in her hand as The Joker sighed deeply, saying, "My father was a...very difficult man to live with...as you've probably guessed by now. He...was very spiteful...unruly...brash..." He paused to swallow the lump that was building in his throat. "You were spot on, Doc, when you asked if he...treated my mother a little too rough...you have no idea just how horrible he could be..."

After another slight pause which Harleen took for hesitation, she returned her free hand to the middle of his back and lightly patted him. "Please...don't be afraid to tell me anything..."

The Joker's head instantly spun to her direction and she was taken aback to find that his eyes had grown fiercely darker, as if they were accusing her of being condescending. Harleen decided to pull back a bit and eased herself closer to the arm of her couch.

"Anything..." he repeated in a mocking growl. "I don't thing you're prepared to hear my 'anything,'" he stated coldly.

Harleen took a deep breath. "Then maybe you should go back to your cell," she rejoined patiently.

He squinted his eyes suspiciously at her, but then turned them once again to his feet. "Like I was saying, my...old man...wasn't exactly father of the year...or husband, for that matter..."

_The wife stared at her drunken husband's lustful gaze, her heart pounding and her knees preparing to buckle. He suddenly barked at her, "You been talkin' to the little shit...'bout what I do to you, Evelyn?"_

_She quickly shook her head. "It's not for him to know...I don't want him to...you're drunk..."_

_A sharp slap to her cheek made her whine and the noise echoed up the stairs to find Jack's ears as he huddled close to his door. He could hear his father's slurred speech as he growled, "No shit, you dumbass. I don't have time for all your yammerin'. I gotta meet the boys at the bar..."_

_Evelyn raised herself up and glared back at him. "Why? So you can boast about all this?" she demanded in a severe tone. "You have no idea who's in control...you're a sad, lousy, small man who deserves nothing more than -" _

"Did your father hit your mother, Mister Joker?" Harleen asked softly.

He sighed. "Quite a bit..."

_Her husband let his fist cease her insults and she turned as her knees finally gave in and allowed her to fall over the arm of the sofa. "You little whore!" roared Jack's father. "Small, am I? I'll show you fuckin' small! You should know better than to flap that silver tongue a'yours in that empty melon you call a head!"_

"Did he ever hit her...in front of you?" Harleen asked, cautiously.

The Joker sniffed. "He did more than that, Doc..."

_Jack shakily stood up when he heard his mother's yelp that was followed by the loud groan of the couch legs scraping the floor. "Charles! Please...not now!" came his mother's cry._

Harleen's eyes widened as her patient continued to speak. "My father wasn't very discreet, either, Doc. He made it a point...to let not just my mother know he was the so-called...upper hand, but...that I knew it, too. He made that very clear..."

_"Boy!" came his father's gruff voice. "Get your little ass down here!"_

_"Charles!" followed his mother's frightened scream, but another punch to her jaw made her mouth bleed into the couch. "Please! Nooo!" her muffled pleas went unnoticed._

_"Jack! Listen to me, you brat!"_

_The little boy nervously trotted down the stairs, leaving the safe haven of his bedroom and peering around the banister and sitting on one of the steps. His father cut his eyes to his frightened son and chuckled slyly as he gripped his wife's neck and he raised her skirt._

The Joker paused and rubbed his eyes as he sighed nervously. "Shit..." he muttered.

Harleen felt he was drifting and she shot up from the couch and retrieved a bottled water from her desk. She slowly walked back to him and the next thing he knew, The Joker could see the very tips of her stilettos just on the other side of the infamous yellow line. He grinned as he carefully lifted his tired eyes to her, and she returned it as she handed him the bottle.

The Joker gratefully took huge gulps and his pulse steadied as the cold water glided down his throat and into his empty stomach. He sighed with relief and cradled the bottle in his hands. He could hear his doctor's frantic notes being scribbled onto her notepad.

_Jack watched in horror as his father rammed his mother's hips into the arm of the couch, her frantic, muffled screaming mixing with the inebriated grunting coming from her assailant. "Let this be a lesson, boy!" his father demanded. "I will always...be over this little cunt you call 'Mama!' And if you give me any grief, I'll twist your little neck faster than your Mama can come!"_

_"Jack!" his mother finally lifted her head and screamed. "Go to your room! Please!"_

_"You shut your mouth!" her husband yelled, slapping the back of her head and making her cry out in pain. "Stand up, boy! Don't you move, you little fucker!"_

"What did you do after you quit your art classes, Doc?" The Joker suddenly asked.

Harleen's eyes went wide at his sudden allusion to her school years. "Mister Joker...please...later..."

"No...now!" he snarled, cutting her a stern glare.

His doctor took a breath and tapped her pen onto her pad. "Gymnastics...it was close to cheerleading, but without a lot of the politics..."

"Or so you thought?" The Joker smiled, raising an eyebrow.

"Mister Joker...please...what did you do next?" she calmly urged him.

He sneered at her but then moved his eyes to his bottle again. "I was six years old and was witnessing the rape of my mother by my father...you tell me what I did..." He paused, waiting for her answer, but then rolled his eyes, saying, "I pissed myself and got a slap in the face. Sent to bed...with my mom...crying as she tucked me in..."

The Joker paused once more as he listened to her continued scribbling, which was starting to grate his nerves. "You get all that, Doc?" he demanded rather abruptly.

Harleen stopped writing and serenely looked at her patient. She could see that his story had exhausted him, but she wasn't finished with him. She needed satisfaction today, or else her own scheme would be for nothing.

"You still didn't answer my question, Mister Joker," she pointed out.

He suddenly threw his empty bottle onto her floor and she gasped as it bounced off the tile along with the loud POP of plastic meeting cement. He sighed with a growling undertone and squeezed his eyes shut, impatiently asking back to her, "What...fucking question?"

Harleen tried not to let this sudden reaction faze her, but her heart began to race as she said, "I asked you...if your father molested you..."

"_That_ doesn't count?" The Joker snarled at her as he shifted closer to her, making her drop her pad once more. "Were you not listening? Are you really that deaf?"

His raised voice was beginning to make her heart race even more. He was avoiding the question; she could see that. However, she also noticed that he was a few centimeters closer than he was at the start of the session.

She blamed it on her sudden panic, but those few tiny centimeters were just a little too close.

"Mister Joker, please! Calm yourself," Harleen tried to mollify him, but he edged even closer.

"Have you ever watched your own mother be defiled right in front of you?" he yelled. "Or be made to endure the constant tension in the house because you know what's going to happen every...single...night! Of course you haven't! You practically had everything handed to you, little princess!"

Harleen, now not really caring how close her patient was to her now, suddenly narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't call me that..." she said darkly.

The Joker gave her an amused sideways glance, a smile slowly crawling onto his face. "Oh...don't like that nickname, Doc? I'm sure it's true. The private school...the parents who could afford it..."

"That doesn't make me a princess," Harleen declared, suddenly sitting up straight to meet his eye level.

"Just how..._did_...you get your PhD so quickly? Was Daddy close friends with the Dean...or were you?"

Harleen's ears began to burn with anger at his insinuation. "I think you need to stop talking now, Mister Joker..."

Her patient suddenly cackled at her empty threat. "Haha! Oh, dear...I hit a soft spot, didn't I, doll-face?"

"Don't call me that either!" she shouted, noticing that her professional inflection had suddenly dropped. Harleen put her hand to her lips, but her coyness was overwhelmed by more infuriation as The Joker showed that he spotted the sudden fault.

"What was that, honey?" he asked, sarcastically. "Where's the good doctor? Hm? Did she have to meet with the Dean for a private tutoring session?"

Harleen bit her tongue hard as she tried to stifle angry tears, making her patient chuckle. "Aw..." he cooed. "Come on, Doc. I've been honest with you...I think it's only fair that you be honest with me..."

"We're not talking about me..." she managed to choke out, successfully reining back the tears in her eyes. "We need to concentrate instead...on..."

"Little ole me? Hm?" The Joker asked, now face to face with his doctor as she held her startled breath.

Harleen got a better look at the maze of tissue that were his scars as he grinned. "I feel that we haven't talked enough about you, Doc..."

She gulped the nervous lump in her throat and shakily said, "You don't feel...you've proven that..."

"Oh, but...to you...if we were to dig even deeper into my subconscious...nit-pick in my brain a bit more...that you can _make_ me feel...right?" He growled as his hand flew to her left wrist and gripped it tightly as he had before in the interview room.

Harleen gasped softly as his fingers dug into her skin. "Feel that, Princess?" he snarled. "Do you have any idea what I could do to you with a just a flick of my wrist? You really think that your piece of paper from a university could really protect you from what happens in the real world...the tangible world...a world not constructed around paper and ink?"

His doctor glared back into his dark eyes as he gripped her tighter. He had held her like this before, but now she didn't feel as startled as before and she bit her lip as she stretched the fingers of her free hand. "Mister Joker..." she said with a small grin. "I'm afraid that it's you...who has no idea...what I can do with a flick of my wrist...when it comes to paper and ink..."

The Joker's smile faded and as he was about to reply, the sound of a sudden intake of breath escaped his throat as his doctor's small fingers flew to the scar on his left cheek.

His eyes grew wide as the smile completely disappeared and then emerged onto the lips of his doctor.

"Feel _that_?" Harleen asked, now allowing her natural accent to break through her professional facade.

They stared at one another, her wrist throbbing and his scar...numb.

He couldn't feel a thing. The tissue was dead. And the fact that she was right...enraged him even more.

"You..." he said darkly. "You sneaky little -" He suddenly made to lunge at her, to completely overpower her body by bending back her arm.

However, Harleen was quicker and she sent the heel of her stiletto into his stomach.

His hand released her and he moaned in pain. "Son of a..." he coughed as he rubbed the area just above his groin.

Harleen casually jumped from the couch and approached her desk. "Mister Joker," she said, now donning his doctor's demeanor once again. "I think it's time to go back to your cell. I'll see you Wednesday..."

"I'm not done with you..." he mumbled.

He raised his eyes to her and he tried to determine what he saw in her blue orbs: anger, impatience...a tinge of regret, maybe? Was that why her bottom lip was threatening to pout even more than it already was?

The Joker watched her make a motion with her hand under the desk and soon the orderly stormed into the office. "What'd he try, Doctor?"

"Nothing," Harleen replied, softly. "We're done here..."

The Joker wouldn't take his eyes off her as the orderly helped him to his feet. Harleen could sense from his glare that he was searching her, but she didn't dare look away from him. She didn't want him to know that she truly was frightened...not of his sudden action, but by the fact that she had let herself slip, too.

Her office door shut and the echo of its closing was what brought the tears onto her cheeks. She slowly stepped toward the couch again and bent to pick up her pad, but instead she dropped to her knees and sobbed quietly into her hands.

Later that night, The Joker stared at the ceiling of his cell, still lingering on the events of his recent session. The fact that she had the gall to corner him like that, after he had revealed to her a memory that he thought he would never have to live out again. Then she had the audacity to...touch him.

No one had ever lived after they made any kind of contact with The Joker, but this woman was able to find the opportunity to catch him off guard...yet again.

In fact, that was happening quite a bit lately.

He sighed as he rolled onto his stomach, stuffing his pillow under his chin as he gazed into the hallway. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the doctor's small thumb as it glided over his scar.

It wasn't too hard to imagine...since her fingernail had lightly grazed the unharmed portion of his cheek.


	21. You Always Remember Your First

_Carlo's twenty-first birthday was just what Jack had expected: loud with people pretending to like each other, and Carlo's inebriated buddies shoving bottles of beer down the birthday boy's throat. Jack stayed planted on the seat of his adoptive aunt's sofa, his glass of soda now warm as he clutched it tightly. He stared at it as the condensation on the glass left a perfect circle on his dark jeans. _

_Carlo was a different person around his friends. He never paid any attention to the latchkey kid that was brought into the family. At home, he and Carlo would stay awake and talk, mostly of whatever girl Carlo was interested in that week. _

_"Man..." he would whisper as he lay with his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling. "Annette's jugs are outta this world! You should see 'em, Jacky...they're like watermelons!"_

_Jack would try to suppress a loud chuckle, replying, "They can't be that great then...how the hell can she stand up if they're that big?"_

_Carlo would snicker. "She doesn't need to stand up for me..." _

_Jack would suddenly guffaw, making Carlo follow suit. "Shh!" Jack warned. "You're gonna wake Ma."_

_"I can't wait to be outta here. The restaurant ain't no place for me. I'm gonna go to Metropolis...gonna go to business school..."_

_"What kinda business?" asked Jack, turning onto his side to look at his brother from across the room._

_Carlo turned as well. "I don't know yet. Maybe I'll figure it out along the way." He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What about you, Jack? What are you gonna do?"_

_Jack shrugged. "Ma wants me to go to college."_

_"I asked what you wanted, man...forget Ma. What does Jack wanna do?"_

_Jack came out of his memory and returned his attention to the party when his aunt took a seat next to him. "You're gonna miss your brother, huh, kiddo?" she asked, patting a comforting hand on his knee._

_He grinned. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, setting his warm drink on the coffee table and wiped off the mark on his jeans. _

_"Then go outside and tell him that," she insisted._

_Jack rubbed his neck. "I don't know, Aunt Gina. I don't think he wants me around right now."_

_"Oh, you're such a downer! Now, get up!" Before he could protest, Jack was suddenly hoisted off the sofa by her forceful hand. "They're out on the lanai. Just pop out there and try to mingle!"_

_Jack sneered, but forced himself to step past the sliding glass door and out of his aunt's death grip. He closed the door and stared out into the dark backyard, a single fire burning from a large pit in the far corner of the yard. He gulped and made his way toward the steps that led onto the grass, but stopped on the last one and sat down. He watched the silhouettes of Carlo and his friends as they laughed heartily and chugged cheap beer._

_He leaned onto his knees and sighed as he scraped the step with his shoe. He knew they were already drunk, so if he were to go over there and try to talk to Carlo he would be blocked by his bands of Stooges. So he just cracked his knuckles and gazed into the night, until Carlo noticed him._

_"Hey!" he yelled, rather loudly. "Hey, Jacky Man! Get your ass over here and join the party!"_

_Jack grinned and nervously walked over to the fire where Carlo's friends began the customary staring. He was used to their eyes on him, or anyone else's, for that matter. He had accepted that he couldn't hide his damaged side like everyone else, and he allowed the eyes of strangers and even family to look at him._

_"Where you been, Jack?" Carlo asked, his voice slurred. _

_"Nowhere," Jack mumbled. _

_"Then have a beer, Nowhere Man," said Barry, one of Carlo's friends. He tossed a can to Jack, but Carlo took it from him. _

_"No way, Bare!" he demanded. "Jacky's gotta be our D.D." This announcement made his friends leer and chuckle slyly, but Jack was confused._

_"Your...D.D.?" he asked his brother._

_Carlo chuckled as he took a swig of beer. "Our Designated...Driver..."_

_"Dude! I'm not taking you guys anywhere!" Jack instantly protested._

_"Come on, Jack," Carlo said. "We all got dates...we gotta go see 'em...I'll getcha one, too, bro."_

_Jack raised an eyebrow. "A date? Where?"_

_Carlo chuckled again and whispered in Jack's ear. "Babe's Cabaret..." His friends leered again as Jack's eyes grew wide._

_"Ma's gonna be lookin' for us, man," he warned._

_"I'll handle Ma...you go warm up the car..."_

The Joker awoke late in the night to his right hand shaking once again. "Shit..." he whispered to himself as he raised up and walked to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face as he took deep breaths. "Come on, come on, man...get a grip...get a fucking grip!" he growled, his voice echoing off the glass of his cell.

His medicine was brought to him an hour later than usual, maybe that was why this was hitting him so hard. Then again, maybe the medicine wasn't working, just like he had told Dr. Quinzel.

He laughed. The good doctor had been acting strangely today, as if something spooked her and made her more cautious than usual. However, she did get up some kind of nerve to sit beside him...even touch him.

That was something he couldn't figure out. What was she playing?

Still, he had to admit...the move impressed him...and the impression moved him.

His hand began to pulse harshly when he realized that she had revealed a hint of her true self to him. Her professional intonation was just that...professional. Suddenly, a part of him wanted to dig up that hidden treasure again, that higher pitch of voice and that inner city drawl of her tongue.

That stiletto really hurt, though. His stomach was still sore, but the pain was now pleasurable to him as he smiled, remembering her quick reflex to his attack. He hadn't planned on hurting her...not too much anyway. Just enough to remind her that he, too, had boundaries that needn't be crossed, much like that pathetic yellow line in front of her couch.

Of course, in his experience, some women didn't reciprocate that understanding. She had kept pressing him about his father, but he was to blame for that, as well. He wanted to hear her stories, too, but it meant that he had to tell stories of his own, and he didn't care if she didn't believe him or not.

The Joker groaned louder as he dropped to his knees as he felt sharp tingles going up and down his arm. He gripped his right hand as he felt beads of sweat emerge onto his brow.

"Fuckin' women..." he panted as he tried to keep the sick in his throat from escaping.

_Jack had indeed driven Carlo and his friends to the cabaret bar, and the thumping bass in the club was pulsating in his neck, just like the nervous rhythm of his heartbeat as he watched the girl on the stage, Carlo's arm around him. He had sneaked a few beers to Jack and he was now gripping his fourth bottle tightly, the cold of it moving through his arm and to the pit of his gut._

_He licked his lips as his bleary eyes watched the girl dancing topless in front of him. He had seen nude women before in the magazines that Carlo hid in their room, and he was guilty of taking pleasure in those images. But this was the real deal...he knew that Carlo's friends wanted to give their pal a good send-off, and Babe's was the way to go._

_Barry and Ted raised their glasses of beer high above their heads as the woman suddenly knelt down in front of Carlo and ruffled his hair with her fingers. The birthday boy laughed as Jack smiled, amusedly. He had to admit that he was having a good time, but he would turn his face away if the woman came too close. _

_Carlo noticed this and, as soon as the girl walked away, said over the music, "You wanna meet her?"_

_Jack's wide eyes met his brother's sneaky grin and he bit his lip as he shook his head._

_"What are you? A queer?" asked Ted brashly through his alcohol._

_"No way, man!" Jack insisted. "I just...I..."_

_"Hey!" Carlo said. "These girls get paid to do anything...to anyone...capisce?"_

_Jack smirked and looked up at the girl and said, "You know her?"_

_"Nah...but I know the owner of the club, man! Come on!" Carlo helped Jack out of his chair, also using his little brother's arm as leverage for himself. He led him toward a curtain by the stage door where they met a large bouncer. "Hey! Hey, pally!" Carlo said to the disgruntled bouncer. "I wanna see Dante!"_

_"You got an appointment, kid?" the bounce yelled back over the music._

_"No, but...my baby brother here does...come on! Dante knows I'm here; just go get him, huh?"_

_The bouncer hesitated but went behind the curtain. Minutes later, a man in a black three piece suit emerged, smiling and smoking a cigar. "Hey there, birthday boy!" he said as he fervently shook Carlo's hand._

_Jack didn't show his shock, but he recognized this well-manicured owner: Dante Azzarello. He was head of a growing family of drug smugglers and gambling racketeers. He glimpsed at Jack and his smile faded. "Jesus, kid. What happened to you?"_

_"Dante...this is my brother...Jack..." Carlo said with intoxicated pride that Jack couldn't quite read. _

_Azzarello's smile reappeared. "Hey, yeah! How you doin', kid? Carlo's told me about you..."_

_Jack grinned and replied, sarcastically, "He obviously didn't tell you everything, huh?" _

_Azzarello caught the tone and nodded at the boy, saying, "You got balls, kid. I like that. So, what can I do for you, Carlo?"_

The loud pounding of an intrusive fist reverberated against the glass of The Joker's cell. "Hey, clown!" came Bobby's voice. "You okay in there?"

The Joker was now lying flat on his back, grimacing at the ceiling as he still gripped his hand. Bobby could see the twitching in his arm and motioned for Sly to join his side. "Hey...Joker! Answer me, huh?"

The Joker could hear them perfectly, but he felt that if he spoke to them that the sick would leave his throat and have his esophagus burning for the rest of the night. All he could do was moan as the throbbing in his arm now traveled to his shoulder.

Sly nervously looked at Bobby. "Should we...take him to the med ward?"

Bobby hesitated. "I don't know...he might be fakin' it..."

"What's going on?" came a meek voice beside them. They turned and saw Harleen standing with her raincoat over her arm and her valise at her side. "Is something so interesting that you have to..." She walked over to the glass and dropped her belongings when she saw her patient groaning on the floor. "Oh my God! What's happening?"

She turned to them for answers, but they had none, which made her even angrier. "Well, don't just stand there! Get him! He may be having a seizure!"

The sudden shriek in her voice made the orderlies jump to comply and The Joker's eyes opened wide when he heard that sultry drawl that his doctor had let slip earlier that day. He closed them again as he tried to smile, but a string of saliva crept out of the scarred corner of his mouth.

"Oh my God..." he heard her fretful voice say as he was carefully lifted to his feet. "Mr. Joker? Can you hear me?"

He felt her small hands once again touch his face, this time cupping his jaw to get him to look at her. "Mr. Joker? Please look at me..."

The 'please' that she spoke was the sweetest he had heard. Her voice emphasized the vowels of the word, drawing it out and making it seem that she desperately needed his gaze.

"Mr. Joker?" she spoke again, but he kept his eyes closed. "Please..."

There it was again, and he could feel his stomach pull inward as he took a deep breath, inhaling a hint of the flowery fragrance she was wearing. His heart beat faster as one of her hands moved from his jaw and behind his neck, making her fingernails lightly trace his skin.

He growled and shook his head briskly, making her jump back.

Don't cross the yellow line, Doc, he thought to himself.

However, her fearless hands found him again, but this time on his tingling arm. "Come on...we're taking you to the medical ward. You may be dehydrated..."

As soon as she said that, The Joker saw blackness creep over his consciousness and the sick finally escaped, barely missing Harleen's stilettos. She casually stepped over it and kept a tight grip on his arm. "Yeah...I was right..." she said as she followed the orderlies with her patient.

_Jack had gotten his date and he sat nervously in her dressing room, waiting with hazy eyes and a tapping foot. _

_How the hell did he end up here? He knew Carlo had lied to Rhonda, probably telling her that they were going to a bar, making sure that Little Jacky wouldn't drink._

_He frowned. He was always known as Little Jacky. He sometimes hated it. _

_Jack jumped slightly as the door opened and the dancer entered, still dressed in nothing but her six inch pumps and black thong bikini. She was wearing a white feathered boa around her neck and when she turned, she unconsciously let out a startled squeak when she saw her date's appearance._

_He quickly jumped up at her sound and eyed her suspiciously. She had to have known what she was going to see. Carlo had assured him that he would prepare her for that. _

_His stance was beginning to falter as she cautiously walked over to him. "Jack?'_

_He slowly nodded as he looked at her chest, her pert breasts glistening with glitter and sweat underneath the white feathers._

_She grinned cautiously, saying, "I'm Mandy..."_

_He scoffed, not amused. "That your real name?" he slurred._

_Mandy furrowed her brow. "Does it matter?" she asked rather hotly._

_Her tone of voice made Jack glare darkly at her and his ears began to burn with a growing anger. "I'd watch my tongue...sweetheart...I know people..." he threatened, though it was empty._

_She spotted it. "Your creep of a brother knows people. Dante can cut your fucking balls off if you so much as -"_

_Jack suddenly snatched off her feathered boa, making her jump in surprise. He chuckled deeply as he felt his mind begin to reel back into focus. The smell of her sweat was beginning to irritate him. "I love it when you talk dirty..." he growled._

_Mandy had seen that look before, and even though he was just a kid, she wasn't going to take any chances. "Don't come any closer, Jack..." she warned. "I mean it...if I scream, you're dead."_

_She squealed again as he pushed her against the door and pinned her hands against it. "Correction," he whispered. "If you scream...then you're makin' me cum...want me to prove it?"_

_She pushed him off her. "Your brother said you were shy..." she mumbled cynically._

"_You just pushed all the right buttons, doll face..." He couldn't understand the pounding in his ears, but he soon blamed it on the sudden tightness in the crotch of his jeans as he advanced toward her again. "He told me that you girls will do anything...with anyone..."_

_Mandy saw the hungry look in his eyes again and no longer saw some drunk teenager...and this began to frighten her as his gaze grew darker. "Get out..."_

_Jack bit his lip as he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him and biting her neck hard. "Ow! Stop it! Get off me!" she screamed. He took one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it hard, making her screams louder. She escaped his grasp again and inched to the door. "Get outta my room, you...you...__**freak**__!"_

_Jack suddenly saw red as he grabbed the girl's hair and pulled back her head, letting go of it only to slam her face first into the wood of the door. Her blood stained the paint as she dropped to the floor, tears now traveling down her cheeks as Jack straddled her._

_She put her hands up to keep him off but he bounced her head against the cement tile making her next scream catch in her throat. _

_As she gasped for air, Jack gazed down at her bloody face and gaping mouth. He shook his head to try to set the pounding within it free, but he soon found that his hands were now unzipping his pants. He soon put himself in her mouth, keeping her head pressed against him as she gagged. _

"_Come on...you get paid for this stuff, don't ya?" he shouted at her. _

_The sound of her sobs mixed with her struggling breaths suddenly woke him up, and he jumped away from her, making her turn onto her side to inhale deeply and cry freely._

_What was happening? Had he really just done that to her? And now, looking at the bloody heap in front of him, there was no doubt that she would tell Azzarello...and he couldn't have that._

_Another blackness fell over his eyes, but his focus became keener. He wiped his mouth, zipped up his jeans, and shuffled back to her. He grabbed her face and reached into his pocket. Mandy tried to whimper, expecting a knife or a gun, but instead he pulled out a wad of one dollar bills and forced them into her mouth. _

"_There," he said. "That wasn't so bad...was it?"_

_Mandy just lay there, sobbing harder as she felt her white feathered boa loop around her neck, and her eyes bulged as her date tightened it. The last thing she saw was Jack's wide grin as she blacked out and slipped into nothing. _

The Joker eyes fluttered open and he found that he was on a hospital bed, his arm now still but feeling a new sensation. He slowly raised his head and saw the IV needle in his forearm with a tube connecting him to a drip bag. He sighed as he put his head down again and gazed at the ceiling. Soon, however, the flowers came back again, and he turned his head to the smell.

There was his doctor, sitting by his bed, her chin resting in her hand as she dozed.

Why was she here? More importantly...why did she care? He was just another file in her office, yet she had stayed late...and if she hadn't, then she wouldn't have pleaded for his eyes to look at her or keep watch over him as he was asleep.

"Doc..." he said. He didn't know why he called out to her in a hushed voice, but he was relieved that she heard him and walked to his side.

The Joker gazed into her clear, blue eyes as blonde tendrils of her hair fell over them. "How do you feel, Mr. Joker?" she whispered back.

He grinned. "Like...I have a needle in my arm." Her smile made his grin wider. "What happened?"

Harleen looked at him, regretfully. "You must have had...a bad reaction to your medication..."

"I took my usual dose of three..." he told her.

"Three?" she asked. "No, no...you're supposed to take one."

He shook his head. "I can read, Doc. It says 'three'..."

Harleen gave him a surprised look and whispered, mostly to herself, "He changed your script...that son-of-a-bitch..."

"Ah, don't be upset at your boss, Doc. Honest mistake..."

She scoffed. "Honest? Hmm...you have no clue..."

He raised his eyebrow to her and licked his dry lips. "So...how did gymnastics go for you?"

Harleen sighed, knowing what he was doing, but she answered, "It went pretty well...considering I went to college on a gymnastics scholarship."

"Oh?" he said, smiling. "So...your dream was to be an acrobat...not a doctor..."

She giggled. "No, not really. I used the scholarship wisely. I competed in many state competitions...and then, as my classes went on...suddenly found that psychology gave me a lot more than what a few somersaults and parallel bars could."

"I see..." The Joker mumbled. They were quiet a moment, only the soft drip of the IV pattering between them. "I lied to you, Doc."

Harleen stepped closer. "About what?"

"When I said I had raped that dancer..."

She looked down at her fingernails that she had been fidgeting with and said, "You didn't then?"

He shook his head. "No...so props to you for being right...again..." He grinned at her as she tried to hide her satisfied smile. "She was my first, though..."

"First? Your first sexual encounter, then?"

"No...my first...kill..."

Harleen's eyes widened and her mouth dropped. "Oh...okay..."

After a slightly uncomfortable pause, The Joker said, "That doesn't interest the studious psychology student that waited up for her patient all night?"

Harleen could feel her cheeks begin to flush so she turned away from him. "Well, it's just that...it's late...we can talk about it in our next session..."

"Suit yourself," The Joker said as he closed his eyes.

"I will ask this, though," she said. "When did...I mean...how old were you?"

He opened his eyes again and sighed as he licked his lips again. "Eighteen..."

Harleen turned to him again. At last, his adolescence! She knew that a turning point would be lurking in his teenage past. It must have been that moment!

"Was it -" she started.

"Was it, what?" he asked, turning his head to her.

"Was that kill..._the _kill...?"

"Ah..." he realized, smiling. "My breaking point, so to speak?" He paused and looked at her body that was now tense with anticipation.

He knew what she was digging for and he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

His smile grew wider as he stated, "It's late, Doc...we can talk about it...in our next session..."


	22. Absolution

**OMG! I updated! Ha! Sorry this took so long, but I now work two jobs and have been very tired to update as quickly as I had been. But! I promise that I won't leave updates pending for months and months, kay? Thanks! Oh, and enjoy and please review! :-D**

_"Mama, why do I have to go to confession?" _

_Jack's mother didn't raise her eyes to him as she darned her husband's sock. Instead, she grinned and replied, "Because your soul needs to become clean if you want to get to heaven..."_

_Jack put down his homework and slumped out of the armchair across from her. He fixed the collar of his pajama shirt and rubbed his eyes, sleepily. "But...I thought that I could get into heaven if I just do good things..."_

_"And one of those good things is to confess your sins," his mother said, patiently. "Even the little ones." She stopped and finally raised her eyes to him and saw the slight panic in his face and she smiled. _

_He was only eight years old, a bit late in his Catechism classes as his mother had to continuously plead with his father that if he attended then she would ask for nothing else in this world. Her husband eventually agreed, so to Evelyn, Jack being a late bloomer to the ways of her spirituality was a blessing in disguise to her._

_In fact, her pride continued to grow as Easter drew nearer and he would make his first confession._

_"Jacky," she said, softly. "What could you have to confess that would make you worry so?"_

_Her son shrugged and looked at the floor where his bare toes scrunched the shag carpeting. "I don't know...I don't think it's fair, is all...I don't wanna tell a stranger what I've done wrong..."_

_"Father Ramsey isn't a stranger, baby," she reassured him. _

_"But...what if he doesn't like me anymore?"_

_Her smile faded. Her little boy had always been sensitive in this aspect. "Honey, Father Ramsey won't not like you anymore. In fact, he wants you to do confession because he's your guide...your way to Baby Jesus."_

_Jack slightly cringed. She always referred to her Lord as a baby. "But, I don't want him to tell-"_

_"He isn't allowed to tell your sins to anyone, Jacky," she said. _

_He was quiet for a moment and then looked at his mother again, this time with hope in his eyes. "And then...my soul will be clean?"_

_Evelyn's proud smile returned. "And all will be forgiven..."_

The Joker's bed was cranked to where he was now sitting up at an angle and his tired eyes were glued to the big screen television in his room. He was put away in a single room in Arkham Asylum's small infirmary as a safety precaution, which had drawn protests from his doctor, who had bluntly revealed that strapping his wrists to the bedrails were enough already.

The corner of his mouth flickered upward as he remembered the look on her face when she had come in the next morning to find him awake with his wrists tied tightly. The sudden memory of the irritable expression she held made him finally blink, sighing as his eyes burned under his lids. He swallowed hard as he moved his gaze to the tray table beside him, and his eyes landed on the blue water pitcher that was slowly dripping its condensation onto the laminated wood.

He cleared his throat and licked his dry lips. As if on cue from his thirsty expression, a nurse wearing a pink scrub outfit opened his door and was carrying a tray that was covered with a silver lid. She carefully walked in front of his bed, not meeting his hard gaze as his eyes crept along with her movements. The nurse took a deep breath as she put down her tray, and The Joker could see a syringe emerge from her pocket as she pulled it out with a vial.

The nurse then cut a glance at him and, as if his demanding gaze had carried a likewise voice, she stammered, "It's-it's just vitamins..."

"Hm," he huffed. "I'm getting damn tired of all these needles, little lady." He looked down at his forearm where the IV needle was still embedded under his skin.

"Well, I'm...I'm sorry..." her voice quivered. "I'm just-"

"What's your name, sweetheart?" His voice was suddenly soothing and this made the nurse's heart race faster.

"N-Nicole," she stuttered.

"Nicolllllllle," he droned, pinning the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he watched the syringe fill with opaque liquid. "How 'bout you put that needle down and...come give your patient some lunch?"

Nicole had already been hesitant to attend to the patient on her assigned wing. She was only filling in for someone who had called in sick, and she had tried desperately to avoid this room until Dr. Quinzel had asked her to make sure that her patient ate his lunch. Not only did she have to get close to him to administer his medications, but because of his bound wrists, she had to feed him, too.

"Come on, Nicky," came The Joker's sarcastic, soothing tone again. "I won't hurt you. Just try not to get your fingers in the way." He chomped his teeth together, making her halt her footing as she stepped toward him with the needle. His low chuckle made her flesh crawl, but her hand began to shake when she accidentally lifted her gaze away from the needle's target and met his quiet, hawk-like stare.

Nicole's breathing stopped in her throat as she stared helplessly at the darkness in his eyes and she placed the cap back onto the needle as she clumsily reached behind her and placed it by his tray again.

The Joker took deep breath as he smirked and whispered, "I had a dream last night, Nicolllle."

Nicole stared wide-eyed, not really knowing how to reply, but was a bit relieved when he didn't give her the chance. "I'm a little boy..." he growled. "And I'm running through the woods, something's chasing me...I keep looking behind me to see what it is, but all I see are red eyes...I run faster, but I could hear keep gaining on me...it's an animal, I know, and its paws sound tremendous...I can feel the vibration of them travel under my own feet as I finally slow down, too exhausted to continue..."

The nurse still held her breath as she unconsciously stepped closer to the patient in front of her. The Joker licked his bottom lip wildly as he continued, "I finally stop running and I quickly turn to see what was about to pounce on me, but...there's nothing...not...a damn..._thing_..."

There was a pause, and Nicole couldn't help but ignore the chill that was crawling up her neck and ask, "Is that all?"

The Joker smiled. "I turn back around to go home...and when I do...I hear it finally jump...and I feel its teeth sink into my neck...and now...Nicole..." His eyes suddenly became pitiful. "I have this throbbing pain...here..." He turned his face away so that she could look at the supposed wound.

Nicole bit her lip and slowly inched closer to him, craning her neck to look at his. She suddenly heard a deep growl and screeched loudly when The Joker quickly turned toward her with a loud, snarling roar, like that of a monster.

The poor nurse ran screaming from the room as The Joker threw his head back in a satisfied cackle. After a moment, he caught his breath and smacked his lips, realizing he was still thirsty and he looked over at his water pitcher and realized that his little prank cost him further delay to quenching his thirst.

He sighed, still grinning ear to ear. "Ahhh...shit..."

Harleen clicked her heels into the infirmary, her eyes finally leaving the notes on her clipboard when she heard the sobbing of a nurse that was coming her way. She squinted her eyes and recognized her as the usual night nurse and she was trotting away from the station where her co-workers tried to console her.

"I can't take it!" she squealed through tears.

"Nicole," another nurse soothed. "Stay calm. Remember where you work! It's common to have patients like this and -"

"What's going on?" Harleen interrupted. "Nicole? What happened?"

Nicole turned a stern gaze to her, giving her an accusatory look as if it were her fault that The Joker had become a resident in the asylum. "Your patient, Doctor! He tried to bite me!"

Harleen couldn't stop the snicker that came from her throat. "He what?"

"I went in to give him his vitamins and...he told me a story...about a dream he had...then he said his neck hurt...I went to look and...and...he attacked me!"

Harleen quickly shook her head. " No, Nicole. He probably just got angry when he saw the needle. You know he's been poked and prodded ever since he got here and -"

"Why are you defending that...that..._freak_?"

"Nicole!" The Joker's doctor couldn't control the anger in her voice as the other nurses stared at her. Harleen could sense their surprise but she continued, "There's been too much of that kind of talk around here lately, and it isn't very professional that a nurse, who's supposed to be taking care of-"

"You take care of him then!" the nurse shouted back. She then sniffed hard as she clutched her coat and purse close to her chest. "I'm going back to the nursing home..." she whimpered as she went through the double doors, Dr. Quinzel and the other nurses watching them swing shut.

Harleen looked back at the nurse's station and the others quietly went about their business as if nothing had just happened. Her ears started to burn with frustration as she continued her way to her patient's hospital room.

She found him glaring up at the television, dark circles under his eyes and his top row of teeth pinching his bottom lip. She could smell the small bowl of soup that was under the lid of his lunch tray and she slowly crept closer.

The Joker continued to stare at the television as Harleen made herself comfortable in a chair by the bed. She noticed that he was watching The Weather Channel, a looped Doppler radar showing forcasts in different parts of the world, and his tired eyes seemed to look past the pixels on the screen and were focused instead on staying open.

His doctor softly cleared her throat to alert of her appearance, not wanting to spook him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Joker," she said to him. "What's new?"

She inwardly regretted the petty, casual question that just escaped her lips, but she put it past her and continued to watch for a response from her patient.

He didn't look at her, but just slowly brought his eyelids together and, as he opened them, he replied quietly, "It's raining in Nigeria."

It was her amused giggle that made him turn his head and look down upon her, and he found a slight change in her wardrobe today. A white buttoned blouse with a pink tank top underneath, no lab coat, and black slacks.

He was a bit disappointed in the slacks. Not her usual choice...and not his usual preference. But he gave her a grin all the same.

"Hello, Doc," he purred. "You need to inform your boss about the nurses he hires. They have no sense of humor."

"Well, I'm very sorry about that," she indulged him. "How are you feeling today?"

He locked his eyes onto hers, trying to point out the obvious state of them. However, he licked his lips and said, "Much better today, Doc."

"Have you eaten anything?"

The Joker jerked his head to his tray and sighed. "Was just about to...and then someone decided to have a fit, didn't they?" He closed his eyes and let his shoulders bounce along to the rhythm of his chuckling.

Harleen stood up and set her clipboard on her chair and her patient watched her as she circled the bed. She lifted his blue water pitcher and stepped closer and his dark eyes pierced hers as he encircled his grateful lips around the straw.

As cold water pulsed through his parched throat, he realized that she hadn't been wary this time of getting close to him. He concluded it was because of the present state of his wrists.

He smacked his lips as he left the straw and she placed it back on the tray table. "Let's eat then, shall we?" came her voice as she brought it closer.

He blamed the roaring hunger that traveled from his stomach to the top of his throat, but he suddenly found himself listening attentively to her, as if he was trying to dig up that hidden, casual accent she kept securely under her professional tongue. The smell of his lunch that wafted into his nose as the lid to the tray lifted was what brought him out of his trance and his stomach roared louder.

"Let's see," Harleen said. "Looks like veggie soup...with a tuna salad sandwich...and some Jell-O..."

"Mmm," he groaned sarcastically. "Only the best a Cafe le Arkham..."

She smiled wide, not hiding it as she so often did, and he was grateful.

Harleen balanced the small bowl of soup in her hand as she stirred it, and bringing it closer to him she said, "Here ya go..."

She gingerly brought the spoon to his mouth and he slurped it greedily. In fact, Harleen found that she couldn't move fast enough as The Joker devoured the scalding soup in her hands, spoonful by spoonful. She finally put down the bowl after he turned his face away from another helping. "Something wrong, Mr. Joker?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "I haven't been spoon-fed since I was a toddler..." His annoyed face met her calm one as she lifted half of his sandwich from the plate.

"I'm sorry," his doctor said. "Not my regulations..."

"Then untie me..." he told her, simply.

"I can't do that, Mr. Joker."

"I'm your patient, correct?" he said, impatiently. "You give me therapy in your own fashion, so why should part of my therapy include being fed like I'm in a highchair!"

His rising tone made Harleen's neck quiver nervously, but she remained calm. "You're hungry," she told him, plainly, as if that would explain his sudden outburst, so she brought the sandwich to his lips. He glanced at it and then took a big bite, leaving a bit of tuna on his cheek.

His doctor put down the sandwich and grabbed his napkin. "Hang on..." she said, leaning forward and placing her thumb on his chin as she carefully wiped his scarred cheek.

He watched the concentrated look in her face and finally asked her what he'd been wanting to since she picked up his bowl of soup. "It's because I'm tied down, isn't it, Doc? That you're not being so careful today like you were the other day..."

Harleen put away his napkin and blinked at him, curiously. "I assure you, Mr. Joker, that I wouldn't act any differently if your wrists weren't strapped." She could hear his unconvinced snicker and, after cutting her eyes to his hands and then back to him, she said, "I'd like to talk about that stripper again..."

He shook his head. "Nah, not today, Doc..."

"Mr. Joker, you said that in our next session we could talk about-"

"You shouldn't live on false hopes, Harleen..."

The sudden utterance of her name gave her chills, especially the way the second syllable rolled off his tongue. "Mr. Joker..."

"I've already told you what happened," he reminded her. "Everything was true...except the rape...I guess I was too drunk..."

"Or too young..." she pointed out.

"Why should youth determine what a person is capable of? You read the news; you're a smart girl. Just the other day, I read a story about a six-year-old setting his parents on fire as they slept."

"That boy was playing with matches..." Harleen added. "It was an accident."

"A little boy setting fire to an ant hill is 'playing.' He flat out threw two matches onto his parents." He turned his eyes back to the weather in Nigeria. "There is no age of discretion anymore, Doc. There's just-"

"Chaos," Harleen whispered unconsciously.

"I'm sorry?" The Joker asked, turning his attention away from the weather and giving her an inquisitive look.

Having realized what she had said, Harleen decided to go back to her seat by the bed, but as she walked away, she spied the syringe that still rested on the tray table. She picked it up and turned to him again, saying, "So, would you say that you were playing with fires when you started to kill?"

The Joker grinned at her metaphor and replied, "I was doing more than that...I was feeding them..." She casually brought out an alcohol prep pad and raised The Joker's sleeve as he continued, "I didn't start killing directly after that...that stripper was both an accident and a blessing..."

"A blessing?" she asked as she wiped a clean spot on his bicep with the pad.

"I wouldn't be the man I am today...and yes...I'm quite proud of that...she wasn't living a good life, so I took her out of it...the poor souls after that...well, let's just say that I find it hard to forgive."

"You don't believe in forgiveness, then?" Harleen said as she pierced The Joker's arm and pushed in the plunger of the syringe.

He grunted in slight pain as he answered, "I never understood the concept."

"Why-"

"Why didn't you correct me, Doc?" he suddenly interrupted.

She put away the needle and stepped back, confused. "What do you mean?"

"When I called you 'Harleen,' you didn't correct me like you usually do..." When he saw that she was too surprised, probably at his observation but more than likely at her misstep, he grinned. "Oooh," he moaned. "You _are _brave today..."

And coming along quite nicely, he added to himself.

_There was a tense silence between Tony, Rhonda and Jack as they drove to Mass the next morning. Carlo had been driven back to his apartment by a less drunk friend of his while Jack had just raced home as fast as his inebriated legs could carry him._

_As he began to sober up in the middle of the night, the sweat from his brow dripped onto his pillow as he realized what he had done. It was horrible, yes, but so...easy. He shut her up with a simple twist of a feathered boa and she was no more. _

_It was a sensation he had never felt before! It was wrong; everything he was ever taught contradicted his violent action, but...the feeling of doing it! The sheer pleasure that rose from his belly and to his brain! Like currents of the highest voltage, like the tastiest of morsels, like that supreme point of orgasm!_

_For once in his life, he felt powerful._

_He was thankful, however, that Rhonda had only found out about the fact that he went drinking in a place with topless dancers. Tony had taken him aside before they left the house and told him, "Look, kiddo. It isn't the drinking or the naked ladies that's upsetting Rhonda right now. It's the fact that you lied..."_

_"Pop," Jack stammered, sleepily. "I know that...believe me, I don't like that I did, but-"_

_"If you really wanna show that you're sorry, Jacky," Tony said. "You need to let her know that you're gonna confess this morning."_

_Jack gulped hard. He hated being in that dark box and it annoyed him that someone was hiding behind a screen where he couldn't see their expressions. However, he agreed and Tony smiled as he patted him on the shoulder. _

_The line this morning wasn't too long for the confessional, but that didn't make him feel any better. When it was his turn, he slowly entered and took his place on his knees on the pillow in front of the screen and crossed himself. After a deep breath, he said, in a nervous whisper, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been...nine months since my last confession."_

_"Go ahead, my son," came the priest's muffled voice from behind the grille._

_"Last night," Jack started. "I went out and drank...a lot...and then...we went to a strip bar...and I took pleasure in watching those girls..."_

_There was an uncomfortable pause and then, "I see. Anything else?"_

_"Yes, I, uh...I had a date...with one of the girls...and..." He quickly thought back to what his mother had told him when he was a child, that if he confessed, then all would be forgiven, and he could go on. He could get out of that box and leave the church as if nothing had happened. _

_"I...killed her," he forced the words from his tight throat. _

_He heard movement from behind the screen. "I'm s-sorry?" came a nervous reply._

_"I guess cuz I was drunk, Father...I choked her...and she died..." Jack stopped himself from nervously rambling, but when he didn't hear the priest immediately respond, he said, "Father, please. I need this...tell me I'm forgiven...I just want that...that's all!"_

_After a moment, the priest cleared his throat and in a shaky voice said, "Very well...for the drinking and lusting, your penance is three Our Fathers and three Hail Maries...and for the...other thing...you have to go to the police..."_

_Jack blinked stupidly. "What!" he said in a hushed panic. "No, no...I can't do that!"_

_"I'm sorry, my son, but that is the only way for that particular sin to be absolved. You need to turn yourself in. By the Laws of the Church and of the Holy Word-"_

_"Screw your Holy Word and fucking Church Law!" Jack said in a louder, panicky voice as tears began to form in his eyes. "I came to you for forgiveness! To wash away these sins! My mother always told me that if I-"_

_"Forgiveness is always with you, my child!" the priest rejoined. "But you cannot be cleansed with just a simple prayer. To be absolved, you must also take the penalty that derives from the sin."_

_He couldn't believe what he was hearing! He had been lied to! By his church...by his own mother!_

_Jack couldn't stand to be in that box any longer and he shot up from his knees and barged through the confessional door and out of the cathedral, leaving behind a stunned congregation and a broken vow of contrition. _


	23. Eggshells

**Just a wee-bit-o-chappie for you guys...updating again soon. XD**

"Why do you feel the need to call me by my first name?" Harleen asked her patient as he reclined on the sofa in her office.

The Joker had been out of the medical ward for a week and hadn't had another episode since, and his doctor decided it was best to resume their sessions back where he was most comfortable.

He grunted as he placed his arm behind his head. Harleen could make out the bruise that was left from the IV needle slowly healing and she licked her bottom lip as he chuckled.

"Why do _you_ feel the need to stop me?" he asked, softly. "I just thought...that after these past few weeks...and our little time in my hospital room that you wouldn't mind so much..."

Harleen cleared her throat as she mindlessly traced her initials in the margin of her notepad. "Now, I never said that I didn't mind, Mr. Joker," she said. "But...as I've explained before, in this type of setting-"

"What happened to your gymnastic dream?" he interrupted.

His doctor smiled and replied, "I told you already. I went to med school to study for my doctorate."

"And..." he growled as he placed his other arm across his tired eyes. "How long did that take?"

"A couple of years..." she said without thinking, and she bit her tongue when she realized that she just baited the hook for him.

She could see his triumphant smile curl onto his face as he bit. "Interesting..." he whispered. "Is there any reason you finished so quickly...while others surely stuck it out for the other four years?"

"I-I just...I studied quite a bit, actually."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it nowadays?" he said, a cold giggle following his implication.

Harleen knew what he was fishing for, but she decided to reel back and remind him who was holding the pole. "Was your father always a violent man, Mr. Joker?"

The question made her patient abruptly move his arm from his face and Harleen's heart began to pound. She knew that she now had to be wary since The Joker had already invaded her space.

But, when she thought about it, she had invaded his, too.

She blinked nervously as he slowly moved from his reclining position and brought his legs over the side of the sofa and tapped his slippered toes just inches from the yellow line. They locked eyes for a moment and his deep tone cut into the silence like a blade. "Not always..." he said, cracking his knuckles. "He was fiendish...uncaring...philandering..."

"Philandering?" Harleen asked quietly.

"Yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck. "He brought other women home..."

Harleen carefully leaned forward. "When your mother was there?"

He lifted his eyes to her and huffed," Well, we _are_ talkin' about my old man, now..." He looked at his feet again. "My mother would just turn a blind eye; I have a feeling their marriage dissolved _waaay _before I was born."

"Why did he abuse you and your mother?" Harleen asked as she placed her folded hands onto her knees.

The Joker caught a quick glance at the cleavage that was peeking over the top of her red tank top under her bright white lab coat. He then his eyes upward and they hovered their gaze at her full lips. He sighed, "I don't know, Doc. He knocked me out too many times for me to ask him..."

She watched as he groaned as he let his hands glide across his face and his fingers interlace with his now dark brown hair. She cocked her head and observed, "You're tired, Mr. Joker. I can tell...I've had nothing but snarky comments from you for the past week." Harleen noticed that his shoulders hunched upward as he huffed sarcastically. "Is something troubling you?"

He raised his head again and blinked heavily. "Haven't been sleeping well, I guess...or maybe it's just...I feel tired all the time..."

"Why?"

"Maybe because I'm inside all damn day," he replied through gritted teeth. "Even a...dangerous animal like myself," he said, smiling wide. "Needs to be let out of his cage every now and again."

"You're in the rec room every day, Mr. Joker," she reminded him. "Feel lucky that you're allowed back in there after you...well, you know what you did..." He chuckled darkly and a slight chill ran up Harleen's spine. "You know, sometimes...I feel tired during the day, too, even after sleeping a full eight hours. Maybe you just need a little sugar..."

He raised his eyebrows as a sly grin etched his lips. "Mmm," he moaned. "I don't mind a bit of that." He winked at her, making her giggle softly as she carefully got out her seat and walked behind her desk.

"You going to have to settle for something else," Harleen stated. "I don't think my boyfriend would like that..."

The Joker's throat tightened. He had almost forgotten about that twit of a security guard that he had overheard talking about his doctor one night.

Harleen had to bite her tongue again. She and Richard were indeed back together, even after their little spat over the phone, but she really didn't see it going anywhere. They had eaten lunch together everyday, but hadn't gone out at night on a proper date. She was still a bit annoyed at the comments he had made about her being far more interested in her new patient than being interested in him.

Still, she thought that mentioning a boyfriend would put up some kind of intangible defense, but she knew that that notion as well as the mention of said relationship was foolish.

The Joker's heart pounded harder in his chest as she came over to him, stopping at the yellow line and handing him a candy bar. His heart slowed its racing as he lifted his dark eyes to her bright blues and they shared a small grin as he took his treat.

"I see you're not walking on eggshells anymore, Doc," he told her as she still stood in front of him.

She creased her brow in confusion. "I'm not what?"

He shook his head. "My mother used to say that. It means you're not being cautious...just like in the medical ward..." He paused as he looked at the candy bar. "Ha! 'Snickers'...very funny, Harleen..."

She rolled her eyes. "Doctor Quin-"

"Hey, you know what I thought of the other day!" he suddenly said, excitedly.

Harleen jumped slightly as she watched him unwrap his chocolate. "What?" she asked, smiling.

"Your name..." She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes again, but The Joker waved his cuffed hands. "No, no, no...hear me out, Doc. Your name...it's an interesting one...but I think I've pointed that out already-anywho! Your name...I kept repeating it in my head until all the letters got all jumbled up inside...and I remembered that 'Harley' was a nickname in school..."

She sighed and crossed her arms. "Yeah...so?"

"Well...'Harleen Quinzel.' Re-work your name a bit...and you have 'Harley Quinn.'"

She pursed her lips. "Like 'harlequin.' I know...I've heard that before. But that isn't my-"

"I think it suits you, though," The Joker interrupted her again as he bit a chunk out of his Snickers bar. "You know, the harlequin was known for his...physical agility...you were a gymnast..." He narrowed his eyes playfully. "I'll bet you still have some..._agility_, too..."

Harleen turned away suddenly to hide the instant burn in her cheeks. She couldn't figure out what he was doing, but his subtle flirting was beginning to amuse her. "Okay," she managed to breathe out as she tried to suppress her giggling. "I think we should move on..."

"Oh, come on, Harley," The Joker smirked. "No harm in pitchin' a little woo to a pretty girl..."

She stopped herself from sitting in her chair as a loud laugh belted passed her lips. "Excuse me?"

He groaned in playful annoyance. "You've never heard of 'pitchin' woo' either? Geez Louise, girl! You need to get out more."

She bit her tongue as she smiled at him. "Was that another one of your mother's wise anecdotes?"

He finished his last big bite of candy bar and shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah...something Rhonda always said..."

Harleen stopped smiling and her eyes grew wide. "Who's Rhonda?"

The Joker ears burned as he inwardly kicked himself for revealing a name he had kept secret for a long time. His adoptive mother. The woman who had raised him for the remainder of his pubescent years. The only woman who, until now, would give him the chance to talk.

The woman that had been gunned down because of him.

He crumpled his empty candy wrapper and let it drop to the floor and his eyes drooped with it.

Harleen stared at it and realized that he was now the one setting the bait. She knew he wouldn't talk until she at least came a bit closer to inspect the hook.

She tread lightly over the yellow line and slowly knelt in front of him, sweeping away the candy wrapper and keeping her eyes locked onto his.

His eyes suddenly looked away from her and her lips parted in surprise when he slightly rotated his wrist and uncurled his fingers to receive hers.

Harleen's breath stopped in her throat as she gazed at the rough skin and callused palm of his hand, but she licked her lips as she carefully accepted his invitation.

The Joker turned his eyes back to her face and then to their hands. He had sensed that he was somehow holding her again and he could also perceive that he couldn't bring himself to crushing the soft, petite fingers he now held so lightly.

He turned his eyes to his doctor's, her bright blue hues piercing him and making him leisurely sweep a thumb across her small knuckles, and his brow creased in a certain disturbance when he found that his action made her sigh ever so slightly.

He, too, sighed and narrowed his eyelids as his sly grin returned to him. "Tell me more about this...boyfriend...Harley."


	24. Picciotto

_**Picciotto:**_** younger, more inexperience mafioso, usually assigned the grittier jobs, such as beatings and assassinations.**

**You'll see why I tell you this...enjoy!**

A twisted feeling in her stomach had told Harleen that she should not have used Richard as a defense mechanism, and her stomach contorted more when her patient had calmly requested that she prove just how useful this cover was.

She swallowed hard before answering, in a meek voice, "Not much to tell, really."

The Joker smacked his lips and said, "I'm sorry to hear that. Then I guess there isn't much to tell about this mysterious Rhonda."

Harleen narrowed her eyes at him as she kept her kneeling position. She went to pull her hand from his, but his thumb trapped three of her fingers as he softly chuckled. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Fine...we've only been dating a couple of months..."

"What's his name?" he purred as his thumb caressed once again her petite fingers.

His gentle touch stirred a threatening chill in her neck, but she was able to control it from escaping. "I don't think that's-" His thumb suddenly pressed hard against her middle finger and she lightly moaned. "Richard...his name is Richard...now, who is Rhonda?"

"What does he do?"

"Mr. Joker, please. Who...is Rhonda?" Harleen asked through gritted teeth, beginning to grow tired of his stalling.

His hand finally squeezed her fingers and she softly squeaked. "Ah ah ah...patience is a virtue, doll..."

Harleen felt the chill escape and spread through her neck and shoulders as it gave her the energy to overcome his grip and bend back two of his own fingers. He let out a surprised moan of slight pain and he giggled as Harleen stood up and backed away to the supposed safety of the yellow line.

The Joker lifted his eyes to her as his smile grew across his face. "Nice one again, Harley...heeheehee..."

Harleen decided to stop correcting her patient when it came to her name, and she sternly plopped herself down in the chair behind her desk as The Joker continued to giggle at her. She set her glasses firmly on the end of her nose and put her pen to her notepad and started to write.

The Joker ceased in his laughter and licked his lips as he watched his doctor furiously scribble onto her paper. After a quiet moment, the scraping of the ballpoint pen was beginning to unnerve him. "Come on, Harley," he muttered, gently. "There's no need to pout. I'll admit I was playing a little too roughly and-"

"You think this is all a game, don't you?" she asked him calmly as she continued to write.

An easy smile crept onto his lips again. "Life...is a game..."

"You're right," she responded in almost a whisper. "There are winners, losers...people who sit on the bench..."

He creased his brow as his smile relaxed. "Which one are you, Harley?" he asked.

The grin exposed itself again as her eyes slowly raised from her notepad. Harleen merely grinned back at him. "You tell me..." she said, coldly, as she ripped the paper from her pad and folded it.

The Joker was eagerly smiling now as he licked the top row of his teeth. "Well...let's see," he began. "You were able to afford to go to a private school, so you obviously come from some little bit of wealth, and you also finished with your degrees a lot faster than your peers. Maybe you're a winner."

He paused as he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "Then again, something had to have happened to steer you toward this type of lonely profession since your scholarship was meant to be for gymnastics...and not psychology...you seem to have lost round..."

Harleen stood up and kept her cold stare on his derisive one as she approached him again, her folded piece of paper in hand.

The Joker glanced at her prize and continued, "As for being a bench-warmer...well...you had to have to been waiting a while for your impending shot...if you ended up with someone like me as a patient..."

He ended with a mocking smile into his doctor's face, which was slowly brightening as she stepped across the yellow line again.

Knowing the risk of being gripped by his harsh fingers once again, Harleen took in a deep breath and bent down in front of him and placed the folded paper in his hand. They were once again nose to nose, as they had been the first time he had grabbed her in the interview room after he had lost his temper.

Harleen grinned as he said, "So, Harley-girl, which one _are_ you?"

She coyly smiled as she bravely leaned in toward him.

His muscles locked and his heart began to pound again as her hot breath wafted against his ear lobe. "I'm the referee..."

She quickly stood up to meet his confused glare, but before he could question her the office door flew open and Bobby and Sly entered, looking ready to pounce. "What'd he do, Doctor?"

The Joker's sneered as he looked from the orderlies to Harleen and he realized that she had pressed the panic button as she had stood up from her desk to come over and whisper in his ear.

"You bitch..." she heard him whisper angrily, but she shrugged it off and smirked.

"Please take my patient back to his cell...we're done here..." Harleen said firmly.

The orderlies seized The Joker's arms as he grasped his note and sprung to his feet, trying his best in their grip to cross the yellow line in front of his doctor. "Is that how you're gonna play this, Harley?" he bellowed as Bobby and Sly dragged him out of the door. "I don't talk and you put me in time-out!"

He was halfway down the hall when Harleen returned his sneer and shouted after him, "Even games need time-outs, Joker!" His growl reverberated as she slammed her office door and threw his file from her desk.

She looked down at the scattered papers and tears began to grow in her eyes. Harleen didn't know why she wanted to cry, but the thought of her talking about Richard to The Joker unsettled her.

She wasn't afraid of putting her boyfriend in danger. He could take care of himself. What was more unnerving to her was that she didn't...care.

This feeling made her put her face in her hands as she groaned. She was so close to getting the information about the mysterious woman whose name he had uttered, but she didn't play her cards right. She had become too eager and now she feared that she had put everything at risk.

Harleen sniffed as she knelt down to clean up the mess she had made, but when she picked up The Joker's mug shot, she paused and stared at it.

The smug look he carried. The knowing grin. He acted as if he had nothing to hide, but yet...he was so peculiar, so atypical...

...so intriguing.

Harleen's heart began a vigorous rhythm in her chest as she placed The Joker's picture back inside his file.

_"Jack, you wanna talk about what happened today?" Tony asked the young man that was clearing up the dirty trays from the table across from him. The boy had his long hair tied back and was busy with his work, and when his guardian queried him he grimaced as he bit his tongue nervously._

_He hadn't gone far when he ran out the doors of the church, however, and after Communion, Tony had found him beside the chapel sitting in front of a fountain of St. Michael, fervently praying what he thought was the boy's penance._

_"Jacky? I asked you a question," Tony said, trying his best not to sound stern._

_"No," the boy said, simply. "Nothing happened."_

_Tony threw the dish towel onto the table he was cleaning. "Oh, sure, nothin'," he huffed. "You only cursed at the priest and stormed outta the church during the Rosary."_

_"Come on, Pop," Jack groaned. "Let's just drop it."_

_"You know, you really upset Rhonda."_

_Jack felt a sharp pain in his chest at the mention of this and he angrily pushed the dish cart toward the kitchen. _

_"She deserves an apology, kiddo," Tony called after him, but the swinging of the kitchen doors was all he received for a reply._

_Jack tossed the dirty dishes from the cart into the giant sink in front of him as he let it fill with soapy water. Johnny watched him as he swept the kitchen floor and shook his head disapprovingly. _

_The boy suddenly couldn't stand his eyes anymore and turned off the water, threw off his work apron and stormed into Tony's office where he slammed the door. _

_He balled his hands into tight fists and put them to his forehead as he leaned against one corner. He felt like sharp knives were tickling the crevices of his brain with their tips and he feared that they might make their full landing if he didn't escape this._

_That was the only way out, he concluded. I have to run. There's nothing else I can do! _

_He plopped down into Tony's chair and brought his dark eyes to Rhonda's smiling picture that was sitting on the desk. Jack sighed as his eyes burned with the threat of tears. He had never felt such immense pain as when he not only lied to his adoptive mother, but he also renounced his faith, something she tried to nurture in him, as it was her life._

_He felt like Judas Iscariot after receiving his thirty pieces of silver._

_There was a sudden knock at the door and Johnny entered before Jack could respond. "Kid, get your ass out there," he whispered sternly._

_Jack rolled his eyes. "I'll finish the tables in a minute. Can't I take a fuckin' break?"_

_"Boy, you won't be able to finish anything if you don't help Tony...right now!" His gaze was an eager one and Jack could tell that there was something in the dining room that was much more urgent than dirty dishes._

_Johnny escorted him and Jack's eyes widened when he spied the bright white pinstripe jacket of Dante Azzarello, and he saw that he was accompanied by two big men holding their guns at the ready. He slowly walked to Tony's side as the mobster kept his cold glare on him. _

_"Well, well..." Azzarello began. "If it isn't my satisfied customer...how was your __**date**__, kid?"_

_Tony turned his glance to Jack and asked, "What is he talkin' about, Jack?"_

_Jack opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted. "Yeah, Jack..." growled Azzarello. "Just what am I talkin' about?"_

_There was a tense pause as Jack tried to find his words. "I...Pop, I...I paid for a 'date.' That's what he means..."_

_Tony shut his eyes and shook his head. "Jacky...you were set up with a girl...and what? You didn't pay her? Please don't tell me Mr. Azzarello's here to collect your fee, boy!"_

_"On the contrary," the suited man interjected. "I'm here to collect more than that."_

_Johnny stepped forward. "What do you want, you slimeball?"_

_"Asino!" Tony cursed at his cook._

_Azzarello just chuckled. "It's simple...I want the kid."_

_Jack's lips parted in surprise while Tony stepped in front of him. "You gotta go through me, Dante. If you wanna spill blood-"_

_"I never said that, Tony!" Azzarello laughed. _

_"Then...why do you want him, Dante? He's just a boy..."_

_Azzarello's face grew darker. "Oh no, Tony. He's more than a boy...he's a killer...did a number on poor Mandy..." He clicked his tongue in a scolding manner as he stepped closer to Jack. "She was my best dancer, Jacky Boy."_

_"No..." came Tony's desperate voice. "It's not true...Jack..."_

_"Hey, Tony," the mobster continued. "At least he did one honest deed...he did leave her the money...I mean, he shoved it down her throat, but..."_

_"Tu menti!" Tony cursed loudly. "Tu menti, bastardo!"_

_"I lie?" Azzarello questioned him. "I don't appreciate that kinda talk, Tony. You know I can shut this cozy little business down with just a few words and a few bullets...and you call me a liar!"_

_"What do you want with me?" Jack asked calmly as Tony wiped his forehead with his pocket handkerchief._

_Azzarello gave a wicked smile. "You have talent...it was a clean kill...join me..."_

_"What?" Jack said in disbelief. _

_"I'm asking you to join my Family, Jacky Boy. You wanna be comfortable, don't ya? And you can also be sure that your family stays in business...that is, as long as you make sure my family stays in business..." He chuckled as his men, still standing behind him with their weapons, followed suit._

_There was a moment of silence as all eyes were on the young boy with the scarred face. The boy who had run away from home, abused and broken. The boy who was taken in by strangers and given a home._

_The boy who had killed. The boy...who enjoyed it._

_However, Jack just fervently shook his head. "No...I can't..."_

_Azzarello's smile faded and he looked offended. "I'm offering you the chance to provide for your family, Jack. By serving another family in return...you have the talents, boy...don't waste 'em in this dump!"_

_"Take your offer and shove it up your ass, Azzarello..." Jack said, coldly, his heart pounding nervously in his chest. _

_The mobster and his men shook their heads. Azzarello pointed a threatening finger at the scarred teenager. _

_"You're gonna accept this, kiddo...one way, or another...you'll accept your destiny..."_

_The white-suited man and his goons turned and exited the restaurant, leaving Tony and Johnny staring at the somber kid that was now leaning against one of the tables. "Jack?" Tony began, his voice weak and despairing._

_Jack raised his tired eyes to him and his question burned his ears. "You didn't really do all that...did you, Jacky?"_

The Joker tossed and turned on his cot and finally forfeited sleep as he lifted himself up and looked around his cell. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he just kept looking from the wall to what was on the other side of the glass.

Nothing. Everyone had gone home save for the few orderlies and guards that were wandering the hallways.

The silence pierced his ears and he growled impatiently. Something had to make noise soon; he never liked the quiet. Certain images and phantom sounds always had the tendency to keep him company in silence, and he was never in a welcoming mood when they came.

He suddenly heard a door at the far end of the wing open and slam on its hinges and he shook his head as the sound continued to echo in his ears.

It gave a sound like a Tommy gun giving off rounds and he growled loudly as he shut his eyes tight to the unwelcome image behind his lids.

_"Jacky!" Rhonda called from the garden in the front yard. "Bring out the trash. The truck'll be here soon."_

_Jack stuck his head out of his bedroom window. "In a minute, Ma! I'm busy!"_

_"You got one minute, Jacky! I'm not gonna have the house smellin' like rotting fish all week!"_

_"I said, hang on, Ma! Geez..." He went over to his bed and packed the last of his belongings in Carlo's old duffle bag and he zipped it tightly as he listened to Rhonda talking to herself._

"No!" The Joker shouted as he pounded a fist into the glass of his cell. "God dammit!" he growled under his breath as he backed away from it to see the faint reflection of his scarred faces and panicked eyes in the partition.

Andrew, the guard that was patrolling the wing, heard the noises and started to stomp toward the source. He stopped and listened and realized who was making them.

_"That kid is startin' to get a little spoiled," Rhonda whispered to herself. "Holy Mother, please help me out here. I'm goin' outta my mind with this child. You saw him run outta Mass like a madman!" She shook her head as she turned on the water hose and headed to her flower bed. "Lord, forgive him..."_

The Joker was found by Andrew violently throwing the metal chair in his cell against the cement wall. "Oh, shit..." he muttered to himself as he trotted to the commotion. "Hey! Joker! Cut that shit out, man! You're wakin' up the whole place!"

Fucker! The Joker said to himself. It's too damn quiet!

He suddenly stopped throwing the chair and dug his nails into his scalp as crouched onto the floor, moaning pitifully.

_Jack watched as Tony headed to the front door with the trash bag. He set it down so Jack could take it outside with him, but he wasn't aware that his adopted son was staring at him from the top of the stairs, the duffle bag over his shoulder. He watched as Tony looked out at Rhonda and then turned to go back into the kitchen._

_It wasn't until he heard the torrent of bullets hailing into his front yard that made him stop in his tracks and fall flat onto the floor. "Rhonda!" he screamed in a panic as he crawled._

_Jack glanced out of the small window of the door and saw the bullets pierce seven perfect wounds into Rhonda's frail torso and his heart pounded as he watched her body writhe as she stayed balanced on her weak legs, the water hose still spraying onto her bed of tulips._

"Get up, clown!" Andrew commanded as The Joker now moaned loudly into his hands. He was soon cackling and the muffled sound sent chills down the guard's spine. He unhooked his radio and spoke into it, "I need two men up here in the west wing! The clown has finally lost it completely!"

The Joker laughed louder as he heard him open the door to his cell. He soon felt Andrew's forceful hand on his shoulder, but he retaliated and grabbed the guard's wrist and twisted it, making him scream in agony as he heard the resounding crack of the bone.

"You mutha-" Andrew cursed as he went to grab the patient's throat with his unharmed hand, but The Joker's teeth caught his thumb and he bit deep into his skin.

Andrew's screams echoed in the cell and The Joker welcomed the noise, but the taste of blood awoke him and he decided that it was now safe for the silence to return.

He released Andrew and, as he cowered away, The Joker grabbed his throat and threw him against the concrete wall. The guard's head bounced brutally against the rock and the light left his eyes and he dropped lifeless at The Joker's feet.

_The bullets stopped and there was just silence as Tony rushed out of the front door, and Jack quickly trotted down the stairs as he heard his screams. "Rhonda! Nooo! Baby...no, mio Dio, no! Il mio amore!"_

_Jack raced through the kitchen and out of the back door as he escaped Tony's weeping, and he tried to keep his tears at bay as he brought Dante Azzarello's address from his pocket as he ran down the back roads toward the dark streets of Gotham._

The Joker looked down at Andrew's still body and slowly licked his lips and brought his gaze toward his glass partition.

His heart pounded harder when his feral eyes met the bright hue of Harleen's and his smile grew wider. "Hey, Harley!" he exclaimed to her, as if seeing a long lost friend.

The look on her face was one of terror as she looked from Andrew's body to The Joker's triumphant stance. He could see her eyes grow brighter as tears began to brim over her long lashes. "Aww, don't worry, baby doll..." he cooed, menacingly. "I'm okay..."

"What have you done?" Harleen whispered, her tears finally falling. "What happened!" she screamed, and The Joker shivered as she let the natural drawl in her voice slip past her.

Before he could answer, however, two orderlies ran past her, immediately jostling The Joker to the cold floor of his cell as he cackled with glee. Harleen watched with horror as they lifted her patient to his feet and quickly jacket him tightly. He was soon being dragged to the elevator where Harleen knew he would spend a certain amount of time back in The Box.

She wiped her face after they disappeared, The Joker's laugh echoing as the elevator traveled to its destination.

An hour of silence later and The Joker was still giggling in the back of his new padded cell in solitary and, in the stillness around him, his mind kept going back to his doctor's horrified face. He then wondered: just how much did she see?

The Joker knew her anxious countenance wasn't for the now deceased guard that was laying on the floor downstairs. He didn't have to guess; it was in the note she had slipped him earlier that day before she had dismissed him. He had unfolded it before going to bed and his smile crawled onto his face again as he went over the scribbled words that he now had etched into his memory:

"No matter what the rules, some still play the 'game' their own way, Mr. J..."


	25. Blood is Thicker

Harleen reclined in her bathtub, the water growing cooler and bubbles fading around her moist body. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest as she stared at the faucet in front of her, and the sound of a low alto saxophone emitting from her shower radio echoed off the tiled walls of her bathroom.

She couldn't stop replaying what she had witnessed just hours before: the flying chair, the glint of Andrew's badge, the resounding crack of his nose...and The Joker's triumphant smile.

It was his smile that made her heart race even faster. It was victorious, daring...entrancing. It's what made the tears in her eyes build and she couldn't help but scream at him like she did, demanding an answer.

Who would blame her, though? She had gone through all the trouble to finally have their sessions moved to her office, where he was finally opening up to her, and he attacks a guard! How could he be so-?

"Christ..." Harleen whispered to herself as she wiped a frustrated tear from her cheek. "We're so close...he's ruining everything! He-"

The shrill sound of her ringing cell phone made her squeal in surprise. "Hello?" she sniffed as she put it to her ear.

"Harl..." came a weak voice.

Harleen leaned forward, putting her free hand on the side of the tub. "Richard..."

There was a pause, and she could have sworn that she heard a slight choke as he said, "He's...he's dead..."

Her heart began to pound, but surprisingly slowed when he continued, "Andrew...he's dead..."

She let out a quiet sigh, but then shook her head briskly. Why had her patient come to mind when Richard started to speak? "Oh?" she managed to breathe.

"Oh?" Richard said, offended. "That's all you have to say? Oh!"

"Richard, calm down," Harleen said, getting out of the tub. "It's...it's..." She was trying to tell him that it was all okay, but she knew better. "Honey," she cooed, trying to soothe him. "Why don't you...come over?" She cringed as she asked this, and her heart pounded again when he didn't reply.

"Richard?" she asked.

A heavy sigh echoed in her ear as well as his next sentence. "I'm gonna kill him..."

Harleen nearly slipped as she dried off, balancing the phone in one hand. "What? Who?" she shrieked, but she already knew.

"The son-of-a-bitch who did this, Harleen!" he shouted at her. "He's fuckin' dead! That clown made his first mistake by getting locked up!"

"Richard, wait!" Harleen shouted back, but he had already shut his phone. "No!"

_Susan stretched her long, slender arms over her head as she stretched and glanced over at Jack, who was sitting at the end of the bed. He was smoking a cigarette, his pale, bare back heaving slowly as he stared at the muted television set in front of him. _

_She grinned as she said, "Hey, Tiger..."_

_He waited for the commercial to start before he turned around and looked at her, his eyes slightly puffed from recent restless nights. Jack didn't grin back at her or even answer, but just acknowledged her presence by taking another drag on his cigarette. _

_When he turned back to the television, Susan groaned as she sat up, her red hair draping her pert nipples. "Let's go for Round Three, Smiley..." she purred into his neck._

_A shove onto her back was his reply and she watched him stand up in front of her, his black slacks hanging loosely from his bony hips. "Money's by the door..." he murmured as he walked over to his green shirt that was sitting in a heap on the floor. _

_Hours later, he was sitting in the back seat of an old Cadillac fiddling with his revolver, opening the barrel and spinning it only to slam it shut again. _

_The older gentleman sitting in the driver's seat in front of him would jump at every click until he finally growled, "Jacky, come on! Cut it out before you put a hole in my head!"_

_Jack opened the barrel again as he snickered, "I wouldn't do that, Rudy. You have too many holes in your head already..."_

_The two other men in the car chuckled but Rudy soon motioned for them to stop when their target stepped onto the curb just a few feet from them. "There he is," he said, and the men quietly but quickly left their post and closed in on their prey._

Solitary wasn't as bad this time around, and The Joker smugly leaned against the padded wall of the cell as he stared at the door. It was quiet...peaceful...

...the new straightjacket was also a plus, as it kept his body warm in his cold cell.

He could hear the breeze whirling through the trees outside his small window, and a giggle escaped his throat as he remembered the sound of the guard's wail as he was being shoved headfirst into the cement wall.

The vacant look in his victim's eyes made his skin crawl with a feeling of anxiety, but it also stimulated his senses as he smelled the guard's blood as it oozed from his lips after his teeth broke the skin of his hand. The Joker had felt the vibration of a bone being broken under his incisors as the guard screamed in both pain and terror.

The memory made his tongue dart onto his bottom lip to savor once more the now dried blood that had caked. He rolled his eyes back and sighed, but his pleasure was interrupted by the sudden, brutal scraping of the door at the end of the hall.

The Joker watched as the lurching shadow from the hallway stomped closer to his door and he smiled wide as Richard's face finally glowered at him through the bars.

_Night had fallen when the men arrived at Dante Azzarello's home, and Jack trudged into the kitchen where his Boss's wife was sitting at the table nursing a bottle of scotch. He glanced at her as he helped himself to the orange juice in the refrigerator._

_Three years had gone by and Azzarello had taken him under his wing, teaching him the basics of his role in his new Family. Jack had easily taken to the assigned hits that were given to him; he didn't mind getting his hands dirty. However, the Missus Azzarello wasn't too comfortable with her husband practically adopting the kid like his own son._

_The very sight of him made her sick, and Jack knew it._

_"Where's Dante?" he asked her, as he poured his drink into a small glass. _

_She gave him an inebriated huff as she stood up, her bottle in tow. "He's waitin' for ya," she slurred. She dragged her feet past him and muttered, "Freak..."_

_Jack closed his eyes tight as he gulped down the last of his drink. He had heard many of Azzarello's men utter this hateful moniker, and he still wasn't used to it. _

_He was soon knocking on Azzarello's study door. "Come in," came his Boss's voice on the other side._

_Jack opened the door just as Azzarello lifted his head from his work. He smiled at his young apprentice and motioned toward him. "Hey, Jacky. Come here...sit, sit..."_

_The young gangster took the offer silently and stared at the shiny tips of his own shoes. His new Boss had certainly taken care of him: new shoes, a roof over his head, good pay...and new suits._

_Jack loved the suits. He had never owned one in his life and he now had a full wardrobe._

_"Look here, sonny," Azzarello started. "You've been doing well for yourself lately. I'm impressed. Carmine told me about the hit today...says you can handle a knife like a pro..."_

_Jack grinned slightly. "Just doing my job, Dante..." he explained matter-of-factly, to which his Boss chuckled._

_"That you are, Jacky...that you are." Azzarello reached into his desk drawer and pulled out two glasses with a decanter of scotch._

_Jack kindly waved his hand. "No, thanks, Boss...I just...you know..."_

_Azzarello glanced at the second glass. "Oh, yeah. I forgot." He put away the spare glass and poured one for himself. "Why don't ya drink, kiddo?"_

_He swallowed hard, a quick flash of the image of his father bolting through him, but he straightened and said, "Never had the stomach for it..."_

Richard opened the door to The Joker's padded cell and stepped inside, an unfamiliar orderly shadowing him.

The patient merely kept his wide smile on his face as his visitors approached him. The guard glared intensely at the clown beneath him that was sitting comfortably on the cushioned floor, his bare feet sticking out in front of him.

Richard's pulse raced through to the knuckles of his fist as he waited for the right moment.

The Joker gave it to him, saying, "Hello...**Dick**..."

_The doorbell rang early the next morning and Carmine answered, his pistol hidden behind his back as he greeted a man in a light blue suit. "What can I do for you, bub?" he asked harshly. _

_The stranger straightened his tie with one hand while he gripped his black valise with the other. "I-My name is Joseph Difato...attorney..." he stammered. _

_"We got an attorney," came Azzarello's voice as he joined Carmine at the door. "Why would I need another one when the one I have is already bleeding me dry?"_

_Mr. Difato blinked when he was greeted by Dante Azzarello himself, but stood his ground. "I'm only here to deliver a subpoena, sir...I need to find-"_

_"A what?" Azzarello shouted. "The cops have nothing on me, pally!"_

_"No! No, Mr. Azzarello...sir..." Mr. Difato sputtered. "It's for a counsel...for a Mister...Jack Napier."_

_The Boss of the house quickly jerked his head to see Jack standing behind him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Carmine furrowed a curious brow at him. "What's he want with you, Jacky?"_

The elevator couldn't travel fast enough to the sixth floor and Harleen paced anxiously. "Come on...come on, dammit!"

When the doors finally shifted open, she could hear the grunting that was accompanied by the sound of boots hitting flesh, and her heart pounded once again as she hurried to the end of the dark hallway where she saw The Joker's cell door wide open.

"No..." she panicked under her breath. She drew closer and the quick glance of her boyfriend's boot swinging toward her patient made her voice heard. "No! Richard! Stop it!" she shrieked.

Richard, however, kept delivering blows into The Joker's stomach, all the while his accomplice trying to punch the smile off the cackling clown's face.

Harleen grabbed her boyfriend's arm and pulled him, shouting, "Richard, stop it! Please!" Tears threatened to burst from her eyes as he pushed her away, and she quickly grabbed his Billy club from his belt and extended it.

She gripped it tightly and brought it forcefully across Richard's back, making him stop his attack on The Joker and bringing him down onto one knee. "Harleen!" he yelled at her. "What the hell are you doing!"

"Leave him alone!" she screeched as she hit him across the shoulders.

The orderly had stopped punching the now panting patient on the floor and stepped back, startled at the display in front of him.

The Joker could only see what his swollen eyes could allow, but the sound of her voice was all he needed to silence his laughter and bring his tongue across his bruised bottom lip. He could sense the strength behind the strikes she was giving his attacker, and he rolled onto his back as his ears dived deeper into her natural drawl.

"Get away from him, Richard!" she demanded, her tears streaming down her face.

"Harl! What's gotten into you?" Richard asked, carefully getting to his feet and facing her. "He killed Andrew, Harleen! He's dead! Why are you defending this worthless piece of shit?"

"You shut your mouth and get out!" she exclaimed. "He doesn't deserve this!"

Richard's eyes widened. "What? I think you've been workin' here to long, Harl."

"Stop it!" she screamed.

"Why are you defending him?" he demanded. "Why are you defending this psychopath...this cop killer...this _freak_?"

"Because he's my patient!"

Her words echoed in the cell as the two men looked at her, and Richard's jaw remained slack. "He's your...what?"

Harleen threw his Billy club at him and he clumsily caught it. "Get out!" she shrieked at them. "Get out, I said..." She couldn't stop her sobs as they managed to choke themselves out of her throat. "Go..." she finally whimpered as her voice was becoming raspy.

The orderly quickly obeyed leaving Richard to glare at his girlfriend as he backed out of the cell, and his cheeks grew hot as she watched her place The Joker's bloodied face in her lap.

_Azzarello took the letter from Mr. Difato and glared at him, saying, "He'll call you..." After slamming the door in the attorney's face, he slowly walked over to Jack and handed the letter to him. "Let's see what kinda trouble you've gotten us into, kiddo..."_

_Jack could sense the growing anger from his Boss and he started to explain himself. "Dante...come on...I didn't-"_

_"Then open it and prove it..." he growled._

_The young man's pulse raced as he opened the subpoena and carefully read it. Jack's expression didn't change and Carmine butted in, saying, "Well?"_

_Jack raised his eyes to Azzarello. "I have to make an appointment with...Mr. Difato, is all it says..."_

_"Why?" his Boss demanded. "What kinda dealings you been havin' behind my-"_

_"Because, Dante..." Jack started, but paused to lick the scarred corners of his mouth. He quickly took a deep breath and met his Boss's frown again._

_"Because my mother has died..."_


	26. NOT A CHAPTER, BUT PLEASE READ!

**Evening, folks!**

I just wanted to let you all know that I will be taking a short break from updating Painted Faces, so yes, this is the end of Part One!

I will be updating in a few months with Part Two!

WAIT WAIT! Before you start to kick and scream and throw bananas at me!

Did you really think that I would leave you guys empty and bored until PF started again? Hell to the no!

While you wait, and while I brainstorm the continuation of PF, I will be...DA DA DA DAAAAAAAAA!

REPOSTING MY FIRST FIC, **MAYBE BABY**! *gasp!*

I will post a couple of chapters at a time. Those of you who have never read it, please read and review. Those who have, well, I told you I'd bring it back! How does it feel to have that patience of yours so greatly rewarded? :-P

By the way: please...Please...PLEASE! DON'T REVIEW TO THIS 'CHAPTER!'

If you have any questions or comments, please PM me. 'Kay? :-D

Ta ta for now, kiddoes! 3


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